


Draco Malfoy and the Fortuitous Match

by fools_errand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Banter, Betrayal, Daily Prophet, Divination, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_errand/pseuds/fools_errand
Summary: Draco knows that to save the Malfoy name and retake his rightful place in society he has only one option: to marry rich. His sights are set on the perfect match, but after a surprisingly accurate tarot reading his path keeps getting crossed with a certain bespectacled idiot instead.To find out where the cards lead, Draco will have to attend a pointless gala, uncover the secrets of his father’s past, and figure out why the golden trio have split. Or he could forget about the whole thing and get on with his life — After all, everyone knows divination is for crackpots... isn’t it?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 46
Kudos: 162





	1. The Spread

**Author's Note:**

> 7 years post war EWE fic with a few familiar faces, plenty of secret keeping, and at least a kiss or two. Rated mature for violent crime scenes, recreational potions use, and language you wouldn’t want to use in front of Mrs. Weasley. All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Note: This is the first of a two part story, so not all plot elements are resolved by the final chapter. Followup story is WIP, but coming soon. Thanks for all the great feedback so far!

Draco Malfoy was extremely annoyed. 

Not a little bit annoyed like when a house elf cleared his cup before he was finished drinking or when his mother pestered him to come along to one of her many charitable gatherings, but very, very annoyed. As he sat in the garden of Malfoy Manor on a beautiful midsummer day, reviewing the front page of the paper that Pansy Parkinson had just handed to him, he was immensely and utterly annoyed. 

Harry Potter was having a gala thrown in his honour, despite having done nothing to deserve it. Not that this was anything new, but being over 7 years since the Battle of Hogwarts, one would have thought the Daily Prophet would have found something new to write about by now. 

“ _Celebrating a Quarter-Century of the Boy Who Lived_ ” read the headline in the shape of an undulating banner, over a photo of Harry shaking hands and waving sheepishly. Draco sneered.

He tossed the paper back to Pansy, who sipped slowly on her teacup and smiled coyly at him. She would have looked innocent to a passerby, sitting there prettily, her lilac dress draped delicately over her crossed knees. But Draco knew better. 

Putting on an air of nonchalance he said, “What am I looking at here? Potter getting another award for playing dead for an afternoon?”

“It’s a party, Draco. I would have thought you’d recognise an occasion for the social elite to gather, or have you really been away from large groups for that long?”

“I can see that it’s a party,” said Draco evenly, trying not to grit his teeth. “But what’s it got to do with me.”

Pansy sat down her teacup with a small clink and held up the paper to read aloud. 

“The Ministry of Magic is pleased to play host to a gala event on Saturday the 30th of July -- that’s this Saturday, in case you’ve lost track of the passing of days,” she said, casting a quick glance in his direction.

“Not much advance notice. Must have had a late cancellation from a visiting dignitary and couldn’t afford to lose out on the catering.”

“The 30th of July,” continued Pansy. “Honouring Harry James Potter, national hero and esteemed member of the Ministry. Readers will not soon forget the role that Auror Potter played in the dissolution of the dark organisation, the Sons of Gaius, led by Andre “The Architect” Calderone earlier this year. It was his selfless act of bravery which--”

“Spare me the accolades,” said Draco, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose. 

“Et cetera, et cetera, ok here -- an event recognising Potter for an astounding five years on the Auror force, which coincides with the hero’s 25th Birthday. The guest list includes blah blah blah-- let’s see, a few minor celebrities, political figures, oh a business mogul or two. ‘And many esteemed families who have supported Potter on his meteoric rise.’” 

Pansy paused to glance back over to Draco, who sat sulkily, the sun shining through the flowering pergola overhead and casting glittering patches of light on him. 

“Do the Lovegoods and Weasleys count as esteemed families? That seems deliberately misleading.”

She skimmed a bit farther down the page before continuing, “When asked to comment on the short notice of such a prestigious event, Minister Shacklebolt replied, ‘Given the nature of Auror Potter’s reputation with the criminal underworld of magical Britain, we made every effort to ensure the highest level of security at the event, including keeping the details largely confidential.’ An affiliated source informs the Prophet that the gala will be held at an undisclosed location on the grounds of the Ministry itself.”

Draco shifted to avoid a beam of dappled light from falling in his eyes. “Not entirely reassuring, given how many ministry officials have died on the grounds of the ministry itself.”

“Witch Weekly correspondent, Gemma Worthington, goes on to say that the guest list is practically a who’s who of young money in the wizarding community,” continued Pansy, undeterred. “Not to mention she’s put Potter back on the Bachelor Watch column after not being seen with the Weaselette in public for a few weeks, so you can imagine every eligible witch in greater Europe will be itching to get their hands on an invite.”

“Well that’s not nearly as intriguing as it would have been a couple months ago. Remember Pansy, you’re here to meet my newly betrothed.” 

“Oh, am I? I didn’t realise it was a done deal. The last we spoke of it, your fiancée had yet to accept your proposal and was coming to spend a week in Wiltshire to size you up.”

At that, Draco whipped his wand out of his pocket, aimed it at the vines of wisteria hanging delicately overhead, and cast an _engorgio_ so severe that the vines inflated to the size of giant squid tentacles, blocking out the afternoon rays.

“Is that a ‘no’ to the party then?” she asked, folding the newspaper back on her lap and tucking a stray lock of her short, dark bob behind her ear. 

“The light was in my eyes,” said Draco in a huff. “Why would I want to celebrate the git’s birthday?” 

“Don’t be thick,” said Pansy with a scoff. “It’s not about celebrating the git’s birthday, it’s about being _seen_ to be celebrating the git’s birthday. It’s high time for the Malfoy name to return to its former glory. I’m tired of having to spend time with you at the Manor.”

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, glancing away from Pansy and out over the sprawling Malfoy Manor lawns. The grass sparkled an annoying shade of emerald and the midsummer sun beat down outside of the gazebo where they sat in the garden. Not far away, a fountain trickled musically, the sound boring into Draco’s head. 

“Believe me, no one is more sick of the Manor than I am.” This was true. Draco had spent the last seven years after the war trying desperately to regain his footing. And ‘desperate’ was not a good look on him. “That’s exactly what Angelica is. My ticket back into society.”

Angelica DuPont was the only daughter of a branch of an esteemed American pureblood wizarding family who had made their fortune selling magical trinketry to muggles since the time of the War of Independence. Though the Malfoys and the DuPonts had been rival families at one time, she and her father had come out to England on Draco’s invitation to explore a potential match.

“Exactly, darling” said Pansy, touching his arm gently. “And consider this the stage on which to showcase your return to the fold. With old hatchets buried and a new girl on your arm no less.”

“I think I can manage my own return to the fold, thanks. If I could go the rest of my life without seeing Potter again, it would be too soon.” 

“Give it a rest. Surely you’re not still holding on to a schoolyard rivalry.”

Draco jammed his cup back on the tray with a clatter and Pansy swiveled in her seat looking mildly alarmed. Whatever the thing between him and Potter was, it was more than that. 

“Potter is the reason I’m in this mess to begin with! His testimony sent my father to prison and I’m sure he’s been skewering the family name every chance he gets on the Auror force. Every few months we’re part of some lingering investigation or another, it’s aged my mother decades.”

Pansy leaned over and laid a small manicured hand on his knee. “You’re right of course, that was unfeeling of me,” she said with a pout. “But the point of the matter is, you don’t have to forgive the rat, you just need to be seen to rise above it all. Lucius, for all his faults, was incredible at finding the right alliances.”

“Not incredible enough,” said Draco under his breath. A lesson he was all too quick to learn from his father’s fall from grace. 

“Besides, this is probably the one time that knowing Potter will work in our favour. Think about it, the DuPonts are here to sniff you out. What better way to prove the past is behind us than to show you’ve got a personal relationship with the Ministry's golden boy.”

“Hm. Yes, well it’s not your worst idea,” drawled Draco running a hand through his hair and glancing sharp grey eyes down at the paper which lay between them. A familiar twinge of displeasure hit his spine as he locked eyes with the face he remembered so clearly.

Potter, an older, more composed looking Potter than he remembered, was smiling back at him from the front page, shaking the hand of Phillip Sterling, the new Head of the Auror Department, as the caption read. He still wore his same pointless glasses all these years later, as well as the same ridiculous self-effacing expression. As if he were just as surprised as anyone that he was being clapped on the shoulder by one of the most senior officials in the Ministry. 

The one difference Draco did notice was that Potter was looking markedly less dishevelled than he had in his youth. His clothes actually fit him for once, and his hair, though still unruly, had the intentionally messy look of a fragrance ad. Fame, it would appear, could buy you style after all. 

“Goodness, Draco, blink already,” said Pansy snatching the paper off the table and folding it in half. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were lost in Potter’s steely gaze.”

“More like lost in premeditated-“

“Stop! No talking like that at the gala if you don’t mind,” Pansy interrupted. “I’d like to keep you out of Azkaban long enough for you and your pretty little bride to be to have a few pretty little blonde babies.” 

Draco smirked. Of the few real friends he had left in the world, Pansy was the only one who didn’t tiptoe around his feelings as if he were made of glass. 

“Maybe you’re right. Angelica has been starving for a slice of society since she arrived, and Potter would be too proud to turn his nose up at me in such a public setting. Another tick in the box towards an alliance between the Malfoys and the DuPonts.”

“Gee, how romantic,” said Pansy in mock breathiness. “I hope I’m lucky enough someday to find a man who holds me close and tells me how he wants to form a strategic alliance with my family.” 

“We’ve already been down this road, darling. You know I would if I could,” she smacked him on the arm at this. “But neither of us is going to climb the ladder back into society's good graces if we can’t distance ourselves from the old alliances. No matter how badly you want to climb me.” 

“You wish, Draco Malfoy!” she said with playful indignation, placing her cup back down on the tea tray and checking to see if the teapot was full. She case a quick _aguamenti_ and started refilling their cups, her dark hair falling across her pale jawbone.

There was a time Draco _had_ wished he could end up with someone like Pansy. But after the fall of the Dark Lord and his father’s imprisonment, he found his offers of marriage even from the old pureblood families had dried up. 

And though it wasn’t public, the Malfoy finances were faring about as unwell as his prospects. Not only were there no suitable pureblood matches in the British Isles that would have him, there were none that would have been able to pull him out of his current financial straits. This gnawed at him worse than the constant hatred for Potter had these last few years.

“Besides,” she continued as she reached into her clutch for her lipstick and a small mirror. “I happen to want a man who can keep me entertained.” She shot a meaningful glance at Draco before popping open the lipstick.

Yes, that would have been the other benefit of ending up with Pansy. She was one of the few alive who knew of his… romantic inclinations and remained quiet on the matter. He’d already made peace with the fact that he’d have to push that part of himself aside, at least for the next few years while he played out the laws of primogeniture. It was a strength of Pansy’s that she kept his secret, but also a risk he had to be cautious of. 

“Ah, I see,” said Draco “You’re not here with a bit of altruistic advice, you’re asking if I can pull some strings to secure an invitation for you as well.” 

Pansy raised her eyebrows innocently as she applied her lipstick in the small mirror. 

“On a bit of a hunting expedition, are we?”

Pansy snapped the compact shut and smiled a pink-lipstick smile at Draco. “You’ve found me out. Yes please my dear, can’t you get us on the guest list? In return, I promise to entertain your little American sweetheart and ensure she spends the night rubbing elbows with the right sort.”

It was a vote of confidence that Pansy even thought Draco still had the influence necessary for this errand. He wasn’t so sure himself, but he wasn’t going to give that away. He quickly ran through his options on how he could secure three spots on the hottest guest list of the summer, before settling on calling in a favour from Blaise Zabini. 

He didn’t have too many favours left, but he’d helped Blaise falsify some of his background papers to secure a job in the Ministry, and he knew there’d be a few ways he could secure the tickets, given that the gala was taking place in the ministry itself. He’d been holding on to the favour for a rainy day, and it seemed like the right bet to make, with the possible trade off being a secured partnership with Angelica, which would open the door to a whole new swathe of favours. 

“Trying to get a bargain off me?” he asked, fixing Pansy with a playful yet unwavering stare. “I’ll secure the tickets, but I’ll need your help for the duration of Angelica’s stay. Including at least one girls’ outing where you speak incredibly highly of me and make it out that I’ve turned down other women since meeting her.” 

Pansy sighed and crossed her thin arms, but nodded. “I don’t know why everything has to be a negotiation with you, you know I would do that for you anyway.” 

He hadn’t known that, and felt a slight wave of guilt once he was able to remove the cost benefit analysis out of the equation. Still, if there was something seven years in Slytherin taught him it was that it’s better to have leverage than friendship.

“Wait until you meet her,” he said. 

At that moment the french doors on the manor veranda burst open, and a figure in a white sundress rushed forth, waving jubilantly in their direction. Draco rose to his feet and nodded in response, before propping himself against the post of the gazebo as the figure of Angelica walked bouncily across the grounds towards them. 

“Oh goody,” said Pansy drily. 

“Chin up, Pansy. I need you looking approachable.” 

“So you do need me then?”

“Fine, I’ll get us on the list, you do your best impression of a warm blooded human and if we can make it out of this week with my engagement secured we’ll both be the better for it.”

“Deal,” said Pansy under her breath as Angelica entered earshot, her lacy dress floating after her like a cloud as she tramped through the grass.

“Draco!” called Angelica, bounding up the stairs of the gazebo and wrapping her arms around his neck. Pansy caught his eye with raised eyebrows but said nothing.

Angelica was an objective beauty. She was petite in frame with honey golden hair falling in long waves across her shoulders. Her skin was a sunkissed tan from spending the earlier part of the summer in “ _Martha’s Vineyard, at Daddy’s country club_ ,” as she put it, and her cherubic face had an airbrushed quality to it. Her teeth were as shining a white as only American teeth could be, and standing about a head shorter than Draco even in her heeled sandals, she was practically dangling from his neck.

“Draco, I’ve just had the best day!” she continued, babbling at breakneck pace. “Your mother and I went shopping at every store in that cute little alley you recommended. It’s like, everything is so quaint and old here, I just couldn’t help myself. I got new robes, and a whole bunch of accessories-- although they’re not really new if they’re antique, are they? But anyway, like shabby chic. And your mother is just the sweetest! She told me to tell you she’s just gone to the sitting room to ice her head, though I can’t tell if she was joking or not--” 

“Angelica, I wanted to introduce you to one of my closest friends, Pansy Parkinson,” said Draco gently unwinding her arms from his neck.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Pansy rising from her garden chair. “Draco has told me so much about you.” 

Angelica turned to cast her beaming smile on Pansy before grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously. 

“Pansy, that’s such an unusual name! Did you know the pansy stands for 'amorous thoughts' in the Language of Flowers? I guess that means I’m destined to love you as a dear friend as well. Although I have a friend back home named Violet, and violets supposedly stand for chastity and innocence, and that’s definitely not the case with her, so who really knows. Anyway It’s so nice to meet you, I love your dress.”

Pansy held her composure, which Draco was grateful for. He knew his fellow Slytherin would take whatever strategic measures were necessary to ensure the engagement went according to plan, especially given that she had so much to gain from their association. 

“Draco tells me you’re from Rhode Island?” prompted Pansy, sitting gracefully. 

Angelica plopped down in the chair across from them, brushing her golden curtain of hair off her shoulders. 

“Yes, most recently. Although I grew up all over the East Coast. Daddy was often moving for work, so we would spend summers in upstate New York, winters in the Carolinas, you know.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” said Pansy with an indulgent smile as she cast a warming charm on the teapot and started pouring a cup for Angelica. 

Angelica laughed a high pitched tinkling sort of laugh. “Well you’ll have to come out and see for yourself won’t you! Draco, could you bring Pansy when you come to visit? I’m sure my girlfriends would just love you. Are you part of a coven? It’s kind of like a sisterhood, although I’ve heard they’re not as big outside of the States.”

Draco could see Pansy blinking slowly and trying not to take the insult personally. Witches Covens were the sort of backwards traditions that only the American wizarding education system held on to.

“You’re quite right my dear, covens are very much an American thing, but there are other ways we could introduce you to our social circle. Pansy and I were just talking about an event this Saturday, weren’t we?” 

“Yes, there’s a gala in London,” said Pansy with a bit more composure, passing the daily prophet over to Angelica. Draco felt a familiar pang as he caught a glimpse of Harry’s stupid crooked smile across the fold in the paper. 

“Ooh, London! I’m dying to go!” squealed Angelica, glancing down at the paper.

“You’ll love London, It’s a beautiful old city. Shabby chic,” said Pansy with emphasis. “But more importantly, all our closest friends will be there including the crème de la crème of English wizarding society, a few celebrities, maybe a royal or two. You know the type.”

“What a fun surprise! Oh Draco, can we go?”

“Of course, we can go anywhere you like,” he lied through his teeth. Blaise better be able to come through with those tickets, otherwise he’d have an uphill battle trying to talk his way out of this one. “We happen to know the birthday boy after all.” 

“Great! Ug, my sisters are going to be absolutely dead with jealousy. Now let’s see if we _should_ go,” said Angelica, reaching into her bag and pulling out a battered looking wooden box. “This is the perfect opportunity to try out the new cards I got today.” 

She opened the box on a hinge to reveal a stack of cards slightly larger and deeper than a standard playing deck. 

“Is that a set of Tarot cards?” asked Pansy with a note of genuine incredulity. 

“Yes! Would you look at the condition? You can practically feel the energy coming off of them,” Angelica gushed, her hands gliding carefully over the cards before gingerly cutting and shuffling them. “They told me and Mrs Malfoy at the store that they were found among the belongings of a descendant of Ursula Southeil, the famous 16th century Seer. Can you believe it!”

“I can’t,” said Pansy evenly, staring at Draco and suppressing a laugh. 

“Are you a skeptic, Pansy? I can always tell,” said Angelica with a calm smile as she shuffled, suddenly looking more her age. Her hands moved over the cards in a practised manner, her blue eyes looked somehow sharper. 

“No I just haven’t had much practical use for divination I’m afraid. But consider me open minded. What about you, Draco? Many encounters with ‘The Sight’ since Trelawney?”

Draco collected his features in an expression of passivity. “Well you know it’s something I take quite seriously, seeing as a prophecy had such impact on my family during my lifetime.”

“How could I forget,” said Pansy through a controlled smile.

“And Angelica has been teaching me so much. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two,” He said, nonverbally commanding Pansy to play along as Angelica finished her shuffling. 

“I’d be happy to teach you! You know, this is what I’m known for back in Rhode Island. Here Draco, we’ll do you first” said Angelica brightly, holding the deck out to Draco to cut the cards while she levitated the tea tray off the small wrought iron table between them. “I have a massive following back home. People will pay anything for a bit of insight.” 

Draco handed her back the deck and the twinkle in her eye made him somehow nervous. On the off-chance she had even a shred of clairvoyance, he didn’t want to know what she’d see in him. His entire adult life was a construct of his own design, built on top of old bloodlines, strategic spending, and a silver tongue. 

“Can’t wait,” said Pansy, propping her chin up on her hand to watch. She was probably thinking the exact same thing.

“Alright, we’ll do a three card spread. The past, the present, and the future” said Angelica, straigneting her back and taking a deep breath before turning the first card over and placing it on the table. “The Hierophant. This card represents your past,” she said moving her hand away to show an ornately illustrated image of a holy man holding two fingers raised in a sign of benediction on one hand and a sceptre in the other. 

Draco studied the face of the man who looked calm, yet stern. Grecian pillars rose up behind him, as if supporting an ancient weight. For the briefest moment, as the hierophant held its stony gaze, Draco thought he resembled something of his father. The straightness of the nose, the tightness of the expression. He leaned slightly closer, if only to feign interest for Angelica’s benefit. 

“What do you see of my past?” he asked, shooting her one of his trademark dashing grins for good measure. 

“I see tradition, conformity, possibly even a ceremony. The upholding of expectations at great personal cost. I see a strong hand, it could be a spiritual guide but more likely a … mentor? No, a disciplinarian.”

In the heat under the gazebo, he could feel the sleeve of his shirt pressed against the Dark Mark on his arm.

“Not hard to guess, though, is it?” piped up Pansy. “Draco had a controlling father, who in our world doesn’t.” 

“Pansy,” started Draco in a warning tone. 

“It could be, but this card is more about Draco.” Angelica continued, brushing off Pansy’s slight. “Something here about your moral code. You were torn between straying too far from the path and doing what you believe to be right. I see someone who played the rule follower, because he knew it would help him achieve his ends. But when the time came to decide between doing what he knew was right and what was expected, he couldn’t bring himself to choose.” 

A memory sprang up in Draco’s mind; a vision of the astronomy tower, the feeling of panic rising in his throat as he stared down his wand at a placid, disarmed Dumbledore. That same feeling as he looked in the face of a prisoner he was sure was Potter, but being unable to spit out the words. The feeling of being unable to act.

“It’s true,” said Draco calmly. “When the Dark Lord manipulated my father into his service, I remember how much it tore him up to stray from what he believed to be right. But he knew it was the only way he could keep me and my mother safe. We lived a double life for years, aiding those who were trying to do good while staying close to the centre of things in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, waiting to dismantle it from the inside.” 

Angelica gazed up at him with big puppy dog eyes, a hand on her heart. “Wow, that must have been horrible for you. It’s hard to watch someone you love make choices you don’t agree with.” 

Pansy looked on with a silent smirk, eyebrows raised all the way up. Draco nodded solemnly, “It was tough. I did the same though; played along to keep us safe. Was it the right decision? I don’t know. But it showed me what it could cost to do anything for the ones I love.” 

Angelica was buying it. He knew she would have heard the rumours about his family, and was probably even conducting a private investigation of the arrest records as they spoke, so there was no point hiding it. He might as well take control of the narrative, after all Lucius’s true motivations couldn’t be proven in a court of law.

“The next card represents your present, what you feel in the here and now.” Angelica turned over the second card which was upside down, showing a man holding two swords as he picked a third off the ground. Two more lay behind him as his comrades faced away in the distance. 

“Hmm. Misplaced ambition, conflict,” said Angelica thoughtfully with a head tilt. 

Draco could feel pinpricks of sweat on his forehead. Damn this silly game, he would not let it undo all his hard work. 

“The five of swords inverted stands for long lingering resentment,” Angelica continued. “But it can also mean a desire to forgive. You’re tired of fighting, it’s taken a lot out of you. You’d rather compromise a little to let the conflict end, than try and push forward and risk both sides losing.”

As his mind raced to think of a meaning he could provide before she came to her own conclusions, his eyes fell on the Daily Prophet. Photo Harry seemed to catch his eye and wave bashfully. Almost as if to say, let’s let bygones be bygones. Could that be the message? That this pang at the sight of Harry was a desire to see him, to forgive him, and finally heal? 

He felt a moment of clarity before mentally shoving it down. Draco frowned, no, this whole thing was just an idle pastime, there was about as much substance in this as in the tea leaves girls used to read to each other in the common room about who had crushes on whom. 

Pansy laughed nervously, “Draco doesn’t have any conflicts, do you? Maybe it means girls are fighting for his attention--”

“No, I know exactly what this means,” said Angelica, her eyes looking misty. “Draco, is it true? That you’re ready to forgive?” 

What the fuck could she be talking about? Long lingering resentment could mean anything. Draco tried to think quickly, but the image of Potter kept floating to his brain, waving mechanically like some kind of muggle automaton. 

Potter catching the snitch right ahead of him. Potter holding _his_ wand to defeat the dark lord. Potter’s face inches from his own as he tried to stop the bleeding from his _sectumsempra_ curse. 

Draco let out a long measured breath. Whatever it was Angelica was thinking, he knew there was only one right answer. “Yeah, I think I’m finally ready.” 

Angelica let out a shriek of delight and leaned over the table to drape herself on Draco’s shoulder, planting a kiss on his cheek. 

“I’m so glad! Ug sorry, I like, almost got a little emotional there. Should I tell Pansy?”

“By all means” he said, continuing the bluff. 

“Well the truth is, P, our families have a bit of a history,” said Angelica.

“Do tell?” said Pansy, as though she hadn’t already heard the story months ago from Draco himself when he was hatching this scheme. 

“A long time ago, there were some ill-advised business dealings and it almost sunk both our families. There’s been bad blood for a long while. So when Draco reached out to make amends, Daddy just couldn’t believe it. He was like ‘there’s a guy with his head screwed on right!’ But we just had to know if it was really real.” She sighed, gazing lovingly at Draco. “And now I know for sure. Thank you for letting me look inside your heart.” 

“Of course, my heart is an open book,” said Draco, glad that his calculated bet on this family was finally paying off. “Now let’s see what the future holds.”

“My my, Draco, I’ve never seen you this way before! Angelica must be a very special someone indeed,” said Pansy. He’d have to tell her to dial it back the next time they were alone together, she was laying it on a bit thick, but Angelica didn’t seem to notice.

Angelica turned the last card to reveal a dark haired man on a horse holding a tree branch. “The Knight of Wands! This is a great card. He is a man of action, someone who passionately pursues his vision. He’s an adventurer, full of energy and enthusiasm, very charming. His fearlessness can make him rash and impulsive, but he’s a lucky risk taker.” 

Draco suspended disbelief for a moment and let the same familiar face float to the surface of his thoughts. If everything went according to plan, and they made it to this stupid gala, perhaps it was in his best interest to try and wipe the old slate clean. Maybe Harry, the impulsive, lucky, fearless git, was destined to cross his path again somehow. 

“I give up,” drawled Pansy, “who is he?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Angelica. “It’s you, Draco! Some new opportunity is going to cross your path, maybe a business venture of some sort, and you’re going to take it. You’re on the cusp of a great adventure!”

“I can think of an adventure or two that I’m looking forward to,” said Draco, honestly. He cast a glance at Angelica who shrugged daintily and began collecting the cards back to their box.

“Brilliant,” said Pansy. “Does this mean we can go to the party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m a long time Harry Potter fan, but new to writing fanfiction. Really looking forward to engaging with you guys on here - I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback.
> 
> I have a fun little arc in mind for this story, with the boys reconnecting now that they’re a bit older (and wiser?). Plus a bit of American buffoonery for good measure.
> 
> For the Fastidious Reader:  
> \- The DuPont name is borrowed from an influential American family who emigrated to the US from France in the 1800’s. I picked this family for Angelica because of their history in the gunpowder trade, and later pharmaceuticals (both seemingly magic for their time), as well as their collection of fabulous estates across the East Coast.  
> \- Pansy does actually stand for amorous thoughts in the Language of Flowers (also known as Victorian Floriography).  
> \- Ursula Southeil was a real 16th century clairvoyant known for predicting the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, among other things.  
> \- And the tarot meanings are all true tarot meanings! I’m getting my card meanings from Labyrinthos for reference. If you’re interested to see what they’re seeing, I’m imagining Angelica’s deck to be something close to a Rider-Waite deck, which you can easily find online. (Edit: I've laid out the spread on my Tumblr, the-fools-errand, if you're keen to see what the gang is seeing of the cards)


	2. The Hierophant (Part 1)

Clink! The stem of the champagne flute snapped in half in Draco’s hand. 

Angelica gasped, “Draco! Are you alright?”

“What? Oh, yes perfectly fine,” said Draco, examining the broken stemware before flagging down a waiter to hand if off. “Damn cheap Ministry glassware is all.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re bleeding, let me see if I can find something for it,” said Angelica dashing away into the throng of people, her silky cornflower blue evening gown trailing behind her like running water. 

The Ministry Atrium glistened with the bob of enchanted lights against the black tile walls and floor. There were a few thousand people present, despite the late notice of the event, and all were decked out in elegant evening wear. Overhead the domed glass ceiling was enchanted to look like a vibrant starry night. But Draco saw none of it, because at this moment, he was incredibly annoyed. 

“Here,” said Pansy, hastily transfiguring a cocktail napkin into a strip of white cloth and handing it to him. 

Draco seethed as he clutched the makeshift bandage. He was seriously considering leaving this ridiculous gathering then and there, but was too dumbfounded to make any immediate moves. 

“Did she just say ‘who’s Harry Potter’?” asked Blaise stupidly. 

“Blaise, be a dear and grab us a drink while we wait,” said Pansy, with all the sweetness of a venomous snake. 

“But they’re coming around with trays-” 

“Scram,” said Pansy, losing the pretense. As Blaise lumbered off hastily in the opposite direction, Pansy put a calm yet forceful hand on Draco’s arm. “Get a grip. You look like you’re about to erupt.”

“I burned one of the last aces up my sleeve to get us into this party, all for the purpose of impressing her and sealing the deal, and she doesn’t even know who the fuck he is. How could we miss this?” he hissed.

“I know, I know,” said Pansy in matched hushed tones, standing within whisper range and pretending to fix his hair. “I just assumed she looked at the paper when I handed it to her. How were we to know that Potter isn’t a household name in America?”

“And now I find myself in a fucking receiving line, waiting for an hour to see the very idiot himself, swallowing generations worth of pride--” continued Draco, through gritted teeth.

“Hush, Draco.”

“The bloody child prodigy who has driven my family to the brink of ruin, and I’m supposed to go up there and what, shake his hand?” He gripped the cloth so tightly blood started to show through.

“Draco.”

“And as soon as we’re within eyeshot, she says ‘why are we even waiting to meet your friend anyway?’ I mean, honestly? I have half a mind to just throw in the towel.”

“Let’s not make a scene.”

“You’re not _listening_ to me, Pansy, there’s no benefit to this whole charade now.”

“I bloody well am listening to you,” snapped Pansy, resuming normal speaking volume, startling a girl nearby who was wearing a feathered fascinator that bobbed around like a bird. “And don’t forget I’m in this queue with you. Sure it’s not the evening we expected, but we can still get what we came for. I don’t remember agreeing to go as Blaise’s date for one thing, but I’m still here.”

Draco let out a controlled breath. “It was the only way we were getting on this list, I told you. Unfortunately for us, I don’t have nearly as much pull with the ministry as I once did, and Zabini’s always had a thing for you.”

“If it was that easy I should have just come alone,” she snapped back. “At least then I wouldn't have to deal with your whinging.”

“I don’t know why you’re upset, you’ve gotten the better deal out of this whole situation," said Draco, incredulously. "If you left now, no one would even notice that you’d been here. Meanwhile, I had to prepare my mother for another potential onslaught of hate mail once it gets out that I’ve dared to show my face in the Ministry.”

Pansy stepped back in her black, floor length gown and fixed him with a patient, heavily cat-eyed stare. Her bright red lips were set in a straight line. Her dark bob stuck out in contrast against her pale neck, her hair clipped back on one side with a gold barrette. In her crossed arms, she held a black crocodile skin clutch in a hand painted with long golden nails. At least if he were to be photographed having a panic attack at Harry Potter’s birthday party, it would be next to an immaculately styled woman, he thought. 

“Are you finished?” she asked. 

Draco merely took a look under the makeshift bandage at the cut on his hand in response. It wasn’t deep, but he couldn’t be bothered to heal it right now. He could feel his magic frizzling as his rage abated. 

“Good,” said Pansy, stepping back towards him and pasting on a pleasant smile. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Angelica will be back any moment and there will be no evidence of this tantrum. We’ll explain to her in flowery terms why Harry is such a big deal, and get her absolutely thrilled to meet a real English celebrity, which she’ll be able to lord over her little coven of friends when she gets back home.

“You will spend the rest of the evening in a cheery disposition, including when we get to the front of this line and you have to shake hands with Potter. Whatever comes out of his mouth, you will take with a smile, so Angelica has nothing to tell daddy dearest except what a superb gentleman you are.”

She reached in her clutch to pull out her wand, and firmly held Draco’s injured hand palm up, her gold talons wrapping around his wrist. 

“I will entertain Blaise for the next hour, so he gets his money’s worth while I select my targets for this evening. I think I saw the Prince of Sweden on our way in.”

The tip of her wand dragged gently along the cut, with an icy healing charm. 

“You’ll leave with your starry-eyed lover, I’ll leave with the most promising match I can find, Potter will continue to bask in the adoration of the masses, and we’ll all get what we want out of the evening. Deal?” she said, looking up at him as she tucked her wand back into her clutch. 

Thank Merlin for Pansy. She was right of course, they were here already so the spent favor was a sunk cost. The only prudent thing to do would be to optimise the return on their time by sucking it up and getting Angelica starstruck over Potter. 

“Did I ever tell you what an excellent politician you’d make?” he said, by way of making amends. 

“A better politician’s wife I think,” she said as her genuine smile returned. “Or what do you think about an Auror’s wife? I don’t see the Weaselette anywhere, and I’d love to watch you come groveling to me every time you needed a favour from the golden boy.”

“Did I say politician? I meant dictator,” said Draco, massaging the newly patched skin. 

Pansy laughed, startling the feathered fascinator lady once again, then fixed him with a more genuinely inquisitive look. “You’re alright though? I know it sucks, but let’s just make it through tonight and our King of Pentacles or whatever will be right around the corner.” 

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for that,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “How do I look?”

She ran a gold taloned hand through his hair. “Like marriage material.” 

She wasn’t wrong, Draco knew he looked extremely well suited for the occasion. Despite wearing an older set of black dress robes, he’d had them recently fitted so they hit his shoulders perfectly. His silvery blonde hair was styled in a blown back manner, and his darker eyebrows framed his angular face. He’d already made eye contact with a few attractive men in the room, including the Prince of Sweden. Unfortunately, he would not be spending time with them tonight, but a few lingering glances wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

Angelica came bounding back through the crowd, her face flushed and smiling broadly, holding up a small poly-plaster. 

“Found it!” she said as she approached.

Draco held out his cut hand obligingly, Pansy’s quick repair job still showing, and Angelica placed the patch gingerly on his palm. It stung as the healing potion sunk in, and the plaster merged to be absorbed into the skin.

“You know, I was asking around about a medipatch and it turns out you’ve got a completely different word for it here," Angelica babbled, oblivious to the recent tension in the air. "I was like, what do you call the thing you stick to a cut--”

“Thank you, darling,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her close to his chest. 

He could see a photographer from the Prophet bobbing around close by in the crowd and wanted to make sure they got an excellent angle of him with his glamorous American. Her hair was elegantly twisted back from her face, falling in a gold curtain. Her flowy blue gown brought out the blue in her eyes. They were the perfect image of a young couple on the rise. She leaned in to the pose, as if she was thinking the same thing.

“It’s nothing,” Angelica said, blinking up at him. “Ok, so tell me everything I need to know about Harry Potter.”

The photographer passed and he let her go unceremoniously, trying not to internalise how much he detested the way she pronounced his name _Hairy Padder_. 

Sensing his iciness, Pansy jumped in, casting a quick _muffliato_ around them. “Angelica, sweet. How much do you know about the Second Wizarding War?”

“Hmm,” said Angelica thoughtfully, glancing up towards the starry ceiling. “Sounds familiar.” 

Pansy blinked patiently. “There was a period of time in the late 90s when the Death Eaters, a group of pureblood extremists, were on the rise.”

“Oh, right!” said Angelica, perking up. “We studied it in Contemporary Wizarding Affairs class, although we didn’t call it a war, it was called the Death Eater Revolt. It was triggered by a rise in anti-muggle sentiment, which was also seen in the US under MACUSA President Dawes' last term, though not to the same degree. How funny that we have different words for the same thing, it’s like with the medipatch--”

“Yes, hilarious,” continued Pansy brusquely. “And what do you know of the end of the ‘revolt’?”

“Let’s see, the rebellion was squashed as I recall. The radicals never gained much of a footing in the US I don’t think, but I was pretty young at the time so it’s not crystal clear. I do remember some of our family friends had to go into hiding.” 

There was a dark cast to her eyes at this, but after a beat of reflection she brightened up and continued, “I remember now, the spring of my 13th birthday there were travel bans in place and we couldn’t go to Disneyworld. That was the year Daddy put in the pool.”

Draco seethed at her ignorance, but still managed to catch her slip of the tongue. The mention of the time period had definitely struck a chord in her. Interesting. He’d have to go back over his research of the DuPonts, perhaps he’d missed something about their affiliations.

“How lovely. Well in England the revolt was led by a powerful dark wizard who was attempting to overthrow the government,” Pansy continued, choosing her words carefully. “Suffice to say that Harry ultimately defeated him in a duel, right in the very boarding school that Draco and I attended.”

“He was defeated in a school? By a child?” Angelica scrunched up her face in puzzlement. Draco could feel the steam rising from his head.

“Not exactly,” said Pansy, drawing Angelica along with her in the queue and lacing their arms together. “Everyone in the magical community was involved in one was or another, from our perspective we were very much at war. While the Ministry was trying to suppress this organisation, the Death Eaters themselves believed that their fate and the fate of their leader lay tied to Harry, based on an old prophecy. But that was their weakness. In the end, it was their attempt to take down Harry, which gave him an opportunity to defeat this dark wizard, and the Ministry was able to perform arrests and get things under control in the aftermath.”

“A self-fulfilling prophecy,” muttered Angelica, nodding along. 

“Does that about capture it, Draco?” Pansy asked, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Yes, I’d say so,” he replied stiffly.

Could it really be the case that the events of Battle of Hogwarts weren't known in the US as a turning point in the history of wizarding kind? More likely she’d spent the last ten years living under the rock of a pampered upbringing. 

Although then again, while the details of the events that took place in his adolescence were burned clearly into his memory, it was true that the mainstream news coverage in the UK had presented a much more diluted account. It was possible that MCUSA had suppressed international coverage in order to protect against any backlash due to the lack of aid they provided. 

Maybe this could even work in his favour; The less Angelica’s family knew of the Malfoy family’s entanglements in the war, the less he’d have to atone for in order to secure the match.

“Trust me my dear, he’s a national hero,” Pansy was saying, as she lifted the _muffliato_. “Your friends at home will be positively dead when they hear you’ve become personally acquainted.”

Angelica perked up at that, and Draco could see the wheels of reputational leverage turning in her mind. Maybe they really were well suited to each other after all. 

“What was the dark wizard’s name again?” Angelica asked innocently, and Pansy made quick eye contact with Draco before leaning in close to whisper to her. 

“Ohh, now I remember! That was the summer the Baltimore Boggarts won the Quodpot World Series. They had a wide receiver who was English, and he kept using his airtime to try and make political statements. Nearly cost them the title.” 

Draco was about the hex the intolerable woman, but Pansy burst into laughter which distracted him long enough for Blaise to slip a drink into his hand. 

“What did I miss?” Blaise asked with a wide grin. 

“Baltimore… Boggarts!” Pansy repeated between laughs. Blaise looked at the other two quizzically.

“Pansy was just telling me about Harry!” replied Angelica, smiling cluelessly. 

“Did she mention how Malfoy and Potter used to hate each other's guts?” asked Blaise, leaning into the chat.

“She didn’t!” said Angelica, unlacing her arm from Pansy’s and accepting a glass of champagne. 

“I wouldn’t say hated,” said Draco through a forced smile. “Moreso, we were athletic rivals. We played the same position on our House Quidditch teams.”

“That’s not how I remember it!” said Blaise, draping his arm around Pansy’s shoulders as she struggled to control her laughter. “You were obsessed with him. I remember you spent hours enchanting badges that said ‘Potter Stinks’ when he was in the Triwizard Tournament!” 

“Draco, you didn’t!” said Angelica, wheeling on him with playful chastisement. “Seems a bit petty, doesn’t it?”

“It was a bit of inter-house humour--” he explained before Pansy collapsed in another fit of laughter. 

“Wait wait,” said Blaise, beginning to laugh along with Pansy. “What about the time that Draco bought the whole Slytherin team Nimbus 2001s, but then he was too busy taunting Potter during the game to catch the snitch! I’m pretty sure Potter was on a Cleansweep!”

Draco pretended to laugh along with the rest of them at this, and Pansy was wiping tears from her eyes. “Yes, I could certainly let my competitive nature get the better of me at times. But we were friends beneath it all, really.” 

“Really? Could have fooled me!” drawled Blaise as Pansy let out an undignified snort. “I remember you were so obsessed about finding out where Potter and his little cronies were getting off to back in fifth year, you completely missed an astronomy final to run that little sting operation for Umbridge!”

Draco downed his champagne and silently swore to himself that Blaise’s falsified background check would find its way to the ministry by Monday morning. He held his composure nonetheless as the other three carried on, in case that Prophet photographer was still hanging about.

Angelica draped herself on his shoulder. “Should I be jealous?” he could hear her asking playfully, but at that moment he completely tuned out, as a familiar set of curious eyes behind round spectacles flashed in his direction.

Ahead of them in the queue, they were approaching a small gathering of Aurors who flanked the alcove where Potter and his attaché stood, shaking the hands of all the well-wishers. Potter, who seemed about a head taller than the last time Draco had seen him, was looking down the line with a playful expression when the pair of them locked eyes. Draco suppressed the urge to immediately scowl but could feel a flutter of panic rising. Harry looked a bit puzzled, but merely nodded in Draco’s direction before resuming his conversation with the small, elderly witch in front of him. 

“Alright you lot, let’s get it together,” said Draco, placing his empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and grabbing another. “Pansy, do we need to get you a reviving draught?”

Pansy had shaken off Blaise’s arm and was checking her eyeliner in a small compact as her laughter subsided. “Damn, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while. I can’t wait to get the crew back together again and we can see what Potter remembers of all this. So many good schooltime memories,” she added, for Angelica’s benefit. 

“I’m sure we’ll only get a quick moment, there are others waiting to meet him after all,” said Draco pointedly. 

“Nah, it’ll be fine. I work with him in the Ministry from time to time, he’s a decent bloke. I’m sure he’s got time for a few old friends,” Blaise said with emphasis on the last word and his eyebrows raised for effect. Angelica slipped her hand into Draco’s and squeezed. 

“Who are all those people around him?” she asked, craning her neck.

“Probably just security, Potter has made a fair few enemies over the years,” replied Blaise. “Oh, except that one there with the grey hair is the new Head of the Auror Department, Phil Sterling.” 

Draco recognised the man who had been shaking Harry’s hand in the Prophet article. He was incredibly gaunt, and the dim lighting in the Atrium cast dark shadows under his cheekbones. He wore a severe, no nonsense expression as he scanned the queue from his position at the edge of the alcove. 

“He’s taking over for old Gawain Robards after he retires next month. There were rumours that Potter might get the role, but that would have been unheard of for someone so junior on the force. Still, if it were to happen to anyone…” Blaise shrugged.

“Well he was the youngest seeker at Hogwarts in-- what was it Draco, a century?” asked Pansy with feigned innocence. 

“Can’t remember,” replied Draco curtly, looking around for another waiter carrying alcohol. 

“I reckon he’s here for the publicity. The word around the Ministry is that Sterling and Potter have already gone head to head a few times. He’s a real by-the-book character, 15 years on the force himself, and you know Potter’s never been one for rules. He’s already started announcing new policies for field agents. My guess is he’s trying to reel in a few of the young guns. I bet he thinks making a show of it for Potter will make it look like they’re best mates or something.”

“So transparent,” said Pansy with a sidelong glance to Draco. 

The final few nobodies in front of them were just stepping up to shake Harry’s hand, and Draco felt a sense of loathing as Harry gave them a warm smile and thanked them for attending. He looked surprisingly good, which might have only been in contrast to how shit he always looked when they were growing up. Now he was taller, nearly looking Draco in the eye, and someone with taste had clearly sorted out his intentionally messy haircut and well-fitting Auror uniform. His demeanour was polite, but missing some of the boyish roughness that Draco remembered.

As the witch with the feathered fascinator stepped away, Harry’s attention turned to them. His green eyes scanned across the group before landing squarely on Draco with a look of bemusement. 

“Harry! Happy Birthday, mate,” boomed Blaise, stepping into the alcove and giving him a clap on the back. “Here are a few familiar faces for you -- You remember Pansy, don’t you?” 

For a split second, Harry looked apprehensive about accepting Pansy’s gold-taloned hand, but quickly covered it. Draco recognised the telltale sign of a trained manner of greeting.

“Of course, good to see you both,” Harry said, giving Pansy a kiss on the cheek. 

“Happy Birthday, Harry. What a fabulous party!” she said, returning the gesture.

“Don’t tell me Crabbe and Goyle are right around the corner?” he asked playfully. 

“No, we brought someone worse,” said Pansy with a devilish smile.

Draco recognised his cue to step forward and grab Harry’s hand. Moment of truth - would he play along? Harry’s deep green eyes locked on him, his expression inscrutable. He could feel a faint crackle of magic between them. 

“It’s been a while, Potter,” said Draco with one of his practiced smiles. 

“Malfoy,” Harry replied evenly, seemingly still trying to size him up.

“When was the last time you ran into this slimy bastard, hey Harry?” joked Blaise, oblivious to the palpable tension. 

_When he testified against my father in front of the Wizengamot_ , raged Draco internally. 

“Let’s see.. Probably at Narcissa’s benefit event for St Mungo’s a few Christmases ago,” said Harry easily, finally dropping his hand. “How have you been?”

“Not bad. Still walking free,” said Draco before he could stop himself. “Let me introduce you to an old family friend, this is Angelica DuPont. She and her father are visiting England this summer, and are our guest at the manor.” 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Harry,” said Angelica, bounding forward and wrapping him in a hug. The Aurors at their sides made a reflexive move but Harry merely smiled and accepted the hug. 

“I heard you and Draco were very close at school,” she continued, pulling back to beam at him. “He said you were quidditch rivals!”

A piece of Draco died inside, and Pansy looked like her eyes might pop out from holding in laughter. 

“Did he now!” said Harry with a laugh. “Come on, Malfoy, that seems a bit generous. I can hardly remember you catching the snitch.”

“Maybe you were too busy following Ginevra around to notice, but we happened to win the house cup under my watch.”

“Hm, I think I was busy with something else, but I can't put my finger on it,” said Harry, his eyes glinting, practically begging Draco to instigate a fight.

“Boys, boys,” interjected Pansy, “You were both incredible Seekers. But more importantly, Look at you now! Five years on the Auror force, how does it feel?”

A shadow of fatigue passed over his eyes, but he covered for it. “Well, it feels good to know we’ve got fewer dark wizards on the street, but it hasn't been easy.” Draco could feel a twinge on his left forearm at the remark.

“Potter’s well known around the Ministry for taking on the worst cases,” said Blaise, nodding knowingly. “Can’t say it does much for your arrest record, but when you do land a case, it’s always a knockout. Remember Calderone? ‘The Architect’ they called him. That was practically a full gang takedown. Man, I couldn’t believe you made it out of that one alive.”

Potter shrugged and that stupid grin spread across his face. 

“Wow, so you’re a war veteran and a present-day crime fighter? Sounds like the origin story for a superhero,” said Angelica, eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me you’re an orphan too.” 

“Erm--” started Harry.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” cut in Pansy. “Last thing we need is Potter going Bruce Wayne on us.” Surprisingly, Potter took the jab well and laughed along.

“These guys are just having a go at me because they know the truth,” he explained to Angelica. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing I’ve done has been alone, not really. Besides, I’d look terrible in spandex.” 

“Well I think it’s admirable,” continued Angelica, blinking up at him with reverence. “There’s not enough good guys out there these days.” 

Harry’s eyes darted to Draco.

“Too true,” said Draco, blurting out the first thing he could think of so Potter wouldn’t get a chance to make a snide remark about whether or not he was a _good guy_. “Though if anyone could spot them, it’d be Angelica. She’s a rather famous clairvoyant in America.”

“Oh yes! You may have heard of me, I’ve started to gain quite a following in the past few years,” blathered Angelica, in that quintessentially American way. “My speciality is personal prediction, but I can also read energy and contact spirits of the departed. One time I even made contact with a client’s deceased bichon frisé!”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You don’t say?”

“Maybe she could help you on your next case,” said Blaise, sounding genuinely impressed.

“I want to know what the dog said,” said Pansy. 

“Yes, I’ve advised on criminal investigations as well!” continued Angelica. “Are you a believer, Harry?”

"I think I used to be a skeptic in all that, but I’ve seen too much come to fruition to doubt it now.”

Angelica gasped. “Shall I do a reading for you?” she asked, her hands flying to her purse, where she quickly pulled out the hinged wooden box. 

“Dearest, we can’t hold up the line forever,” nudged Draco. Why the hell would she even bring that to a party?

“Nonsense!” said Blaise, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “It can only be better than any of the readings he ever got off of Trelawney.”

“Well I..” started Harry.

“I’ll do a quick one,” said Angelica brightly, the deck now flying through her hands. “My clients love it, sometimes they call me once a day for a reading. People will pay anything for a bit of insight. No charge for you of course.”

Draco nearly choked on his own tongue, and Pansy stood on his foot in warning. 

“Alright then,” said Harry, running a hand through his messy hair in a familiar sort of way. Had he alway been this comfortable? This cavalier? Something in the last few years must have changed him, thought Draco. 

Angelica held the deck out to Harry, as she pushed her curtain of hair off her shoulders and stood up straighter.

“Cut it, and turn over the top card,” she instructed. 

Harry did as he was told. Taking the cards into calloused hands. His nails were bitten down to the quick, and there was light scarring across his knuckles. He turned the top card to reveal a man with a bandaged head, leaning on a staff in front of a row of what looked like bare trees.

“Ah, the nine of wands. Resilience,” said Angelica knowingly, her childish demeanour gone. She held Potter with a steady gaze. In the dim light, with the orbs overhead dancing off the black tiled walls around them, she looked almost ethereal. “You’ve worked with determination and bravery in pursuit of an ambitious goal. You strongly desire to achieve your aims, but your journey has taken its toll on you. You’re hurt.”

“Uh oh, this might be the end for you,” teased Pansy. Draco flashed her a look, but Angelica continued unperturbed. 

“This card is telling me of a man who has maintained a sense of hope in the face of great challenges. Your many conquered trials have brought you to where you are today, and I see relief ahead; a burden that is soon coming to an end.” She studied him for a minute, head tilted. “Have faith, the end you desire is coming soon.”

Harry looked at her quizzically, but said nothing. 

“How about that! I reckon that means you’ve got another big bust in your future,” said Blaise, nudging Harry. Harry smiled, but there was something else behind his eyes.

Angelica reached out to take the card, but then locked eyes with him as their hands touched.

“Wait, there’s something else…” she said, her expression growing serious “Betrayal.” 

Pansy looked like she wanted to make another jab, but all four remained silent. There was a slightly palpable sense of worry in the air. Draco didn’t want to admit to himself there was a chance of any truth to her words, but Potter looked like he already knew what she was talking about. 

Angelica continued, her pupils large in the dimness of the atrium. “You have been betrayed, and that makes you distrustful. You nearly lost your hope, but you want to believe, to trust.”

“Who has betrayed me?” muttered Harry.

“You know who,” she replied evenly. A serene expression fell over her pretty features. “Yet an agent of change is coming. Someone or something will appear in your life and change your view of the struggles you’ve endured.”

“How will I know it?”

“You will be presented with a risk in short order. This card is telling you to take that risk.” 

Harry gazed off into space for a moment, biting the inside of his lip, when one of the Aurors flanking the alcove leaned into view to move things along. He shook his head slightly and smiled broadly at Angelica. 

“Thanks for that. It was loads better than some of the fortunes I’ve been given in the past.”

Angelica blinked and smiled sweetly. 

“As if you need any encouragement to take risks,” said Pansy, beginning to steer Blaise away by the shoulders. “Well we should be off. Have a Happy Birthday, Harry.” 

“Yeah, thanks guys. Sorry we didn’t have more time. Great to see a few familiar faces, really.”

“Happy Birthday, mate!” called Blaise over his shoulder. Draco was relieved for the swift exit, and merely gave a short nod in Harry’s direction before turning on his heel. 

“So soon? Harry, we must see you again while I’m in town. Shouldn’t we, Draco?” said Angelica, giving Harry one last hug. Harry met Draco’s gaze over her shoulder, and rolled his eyes good naturedly. As if to say, I’m happy to play along here. 

“Of course,” said Draco drily, before grabbing Angelica by the crook of the elbow and calmly but firmly leading her away as she waved.

He could always make up an excuse not to see him later. For now, he was just relieved to have gotten through this nightmare in one piece. He couldn’t even remember if he’d managed more than a few sentences, but he knew Pansy would be able to summarise it all for him when they had time to debrief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm loving the feedback and words of encouragement. 
> 
> I decided to break this chapter into two parts because it was starting to get long, so there’s still some more gala action coming up. 
> 
> For the Fastidious Reader:  
> \- Prince Carl Philip of Sweden was my inspiration for the royal that Pansy spotted at the party. He’s the same age as our crew and happened to be single in 2005, when our story takes place.  
> \- Medipatch/Poly-plast is a riff on Bandaids vs Plasters in American and British English. We call them bandaids in Australia, so plaster just sounds funny to me.  
> \- Quodpot is the American sport mentioned in Quidditch Through the Ages!


	3. The Hierophant (Part 2)

Draco glanced back at the time, could it really only be a quarter past nine? He’d promised Pansy they could stay until 10 to make up for all the time spent in the queue to see Potter. 

She’d probably shaken Blaise by now, the poor sap. Meanwhile, Angelica was flitting about between various groups of socialites, seemingly self-sufficient. Meaning that Draco could quietly slip away for the next 45 minutes until he could be officially released from this prison. 

Potter, on the other hand, had not been spotted lately. Not like Draco was looking for him. After the receiving line had ended, Sterling made a few remarks from a large podium towards one side of the atrium about Harry’s contributions to the welfare of the wizarding public. Harry had stood by obediently, before being absorbed into an awaiting crowd of sycophants and hangers on. The nifflers of society. 

Draco made his way to the opposite end of the atrium, nearing a set of black curtains hanging from thin air as if they were temporary walls. He’d read in the Prophet that there was some construction going on in the spot that used to house the “Fountain of Magical Brethren,” and later, the less tasteful “Magic is Might” statue. 

After the fall of the Dark Lord, the ministry had attempted to take down the statue, only to find that it had been cursed, giving anyone who attempted to demolish it a horrible case of spattergroit. He’d read in the Prophet that they’d finally managed to dismantle the awful thing a few years back, but had only recently determined that something new should be erected in its place. 

As he brushed the velvety curtain aside and stepped into the enclosure, he felt much more at ease. The curtains immediately dimmed the sound from the gala and a low light emanated from a party assembled sculpture which looked to represent some sort of complex metallic knot. “The Unity Knot” read the base of the statue. Draco scoffed. 

“I know right, it’s a bit on the nose,” said a voice on the opposite side of the statue, and Harry bloody Potter came slowly walking around. 

“Shouldn’t you be at your fancy little party?” asked Draco with a sneer. Leave it to Potter to ruin the one moment of peace he’d had in days. 

“Shouldn’t you be with your fancy little girlfriend?” Harry tossed back with ease. 

“She’s with Pansy getting inducted into the ladies’ club,” he lied. 

Harry nodded, considering him before finally asking, “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” 

“Just getting out of the public eye for a moment,” he replied coldly. “I’m allowed to be back here, same as you. And it’s not like your little gang of enforcers make it particularly easy for me to show my face these days.”

“No, not here,” said Harry gesturing to the statue. “I mean here at the gala.” 

“Oh,” said Draco, trying momentarily to remember what possible reason he could have had for coming to this ridiculous event. “Angelica was desperate to meet you. I tried to talk her out of it, but I’ll do anything to please her. Young love, you know.” 

“Hm,” said Harry, finally approaching Draco before dropping to sit on the stone base of the statue. He stretched out his legs, mirrored against the black tile floor and Draco took him in. In any other scenario, Draco would have thought he looked quite attractive, sitting there with his stupid messy hair and glasses, reclining lightly on the statue arms crossed. He regarded Draco with his deep green eyes, as if trying to read his thoughts. 

And then he did something completely unexpected. He laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Draco, curiosity getting the better of him.

“You know the first thing I thought when I saw you tonight? I thought you were here to get me,” said Harry, incredulously. 

“Get you?”

“Yeah, like to end it,” Harry laughed. 

“If I had plans to end you, Potter, I wouldn’t wait in line to do it,” said Draco, impatiently. 

Harry laughed louder at this, “Don’t I know it!” 

Draco fumed as his laughter died down. What was he playing at? Trying to goad him into saying something distasteful so his little Auror cronies could swoop in and arrest him. Not a chance. 

Potter sighed and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses before repositioning them back on his nose. “Hermione would love this. You know she used to give me such a hard time because I was obsessed with you back at school.”

A stone dropped in Draco’s stomach and he started pacing, trying to disguise his nervousness with an air of intimidation. “With me?” he asked.

“With the idea that you had it in for me, at any rate,” said Harry leaning back against the statue. “I was convinced that you and Snape were in cahoots to make sure I didn’t make it out of seventh year alive.”

“Well when you think of yourself as the centre of the universe, it must seem like everyone who’s not with you is against you,” said Draco with narrowed eyes. Typical Potter, making everything about him. 

Harry shrugged. “I think I was just fucking scared,” he said frankly. 

Draco searched for something to say. He felt like he was getting lured into a trap. Harry couldn’t possibly be having small talk with him at his own party for no reason. He was after something. 

“Angelica seems nice,” Harry offered to break the silence. 

“Yes, she’s an impeccable match. We’re finalising our plans for engagement while she’s visiting. Her family is one of the oldest established wizarding families in America.”

“Ah, that old thing,” said Harry dropping his gaze, a few locks of dark hair falling across his eyes.

“What old thing?”

“Nothing. I always pictured you ending up with some rich pureblood girl anyway, so I’m not surprised. Just wondered if the war would have changed any of that for you.”

“I’m not advocating for blood supremacy if that’s what you’re insinuating,” said Draco pausing his pacing and fixing Harry with a pointed stare. “It’s a strategically advantageous match for both sides.”

“Great,” said Harry, noncommittally. “So you’re Lucius’ son after all.” 

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and instinctively gripped his wand. He could feel a duel approaching. “What’s that supposed to mean.” 

“I don’t know,” said Harry, looking back up at Draco and meeting his gaze with an unimpressed sort of expression. “I just had a hope that you actually meant what you’d said at the trial. About learning from the past and reestablishing what the Malfoy name stood for. But maybe that was that just lip service for the Ministry's benefit.”

Draco was reminded of the days following his father’s trial. While Lucius has been sentenced to a life term in Azkaban, he and his mother had been spared harsher punishments. Though he’d paid the price for his misdeeds in other ways; a ruined reputation, the dissolution of his prospects, his toll on his finances. Not to mention his mother’s health had suffered greatly. And all because of the messy haired git in front of him.

“Everything I said was the truth," said Draco, lifting his chin stiffly. "I said we’d rebuild the name in an honest way. We’d sever all our ties to Death Eaters. And we’d contribute to rebuilding the parts of the magical community that had been damaged. We’ve poured money into charities.”

“Money. Blood. Alliances,” said Harry, staring up at him with clear eyes. “Sounds to me like you didn’t learn anything from this war.”

At that Draco whipped out his wand from his pocket and pointed it straight at Harry, who didn’t so much as flinch. 

“How dare you. I lost my father to this war. I lost my respect. I’ve lost more than you could possibly understand,” Draco spat. 

“I think I can imagine,” Harry replied, unaffected.

“You can’t begin to imagine. Look around, you’ve got people throwing themselves at your feet to congratulate you for doing a job for five years that other wizards spend a lifetime dedicated to with not so much as an article in the Prophet. I’ve got the weight of a dynasty on my shoulders, holding the end of a rope that could slip out of my hand at any minute, and no one in my corner.” 

_Steady on_ , he thought to himself, this was more than he wanted to admit to Potter. But the words kept coming.

“People would love for me to fail so they can label me Death Eater scum like they always wanted and close the book on my family forever. Well not on my watch.” He stepped closer to Harry, wand raised. “And you. You would be more than happy to put the nail in my coffin, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid, Malfoy, put that away,” said Harry, keeping a steady gaze on him. 

“Maybe you were right. Maybe I should just end it.” 

“So dramatic,” said Harry. “I could never understand why it’s got to be like this between us. Can’t you see we’re on the same side? We were both stuck on the wrong end of a war we had nothing to do with.” 

“Oh really? The last thing I’d consider myself is on the same side as you,” Draco spat, still holding his wand steady. 

Harry just shook his head and sighed, reaching into his Auror robes and slowly pulling out a flask. “To be honest, I’d love to fight you one more time. But I’m too fucking tired.” he said, unscrewing the top of the flask and taking a big drink. 

Draco lowered his wand slightly. 

“Drink?” said Harry, gesturing in his direction with the flask. Draco sneered, thrusting his wand back into his pocket and turning on his heel to march back towards the curtained wall. 

“You know I vouched for you,” called Harry from behind him. He paused at the curtain, dreading going back into the swell of faceless socialites somehow more than squaring off against his worst enemy. 

“I strongly advocated for a reduced sentence for you and your mother. In those months after the battle, it was crazy how much weight they put on my account. I don't think I slept those first two weeks of trials, I was called to testify at practically every one. But I made it a point to be at yours and make sure you got a good deal. Because I know the truth.” 

“What truth is that?”

“That you and I are the same. Two unlucky kids who didn’t get a chance at a normal life.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d heard that Harry had stuck his neck out for him and his mother at the trials. He’d been told by all manner of connections exactly who was to thank for his freedom and that he should be grateful that his youth and Potter’s forgiving heart had helped him narrowly miss a kiss with death. He’d even heard some of the testimony himself, though he’d spent his entire trial wishing that Potter’s stupid head would explode after all the horrible things he’d said of his father. 

“And what, I’m supposed to be in your debt now? Is that what everyone else says who gets this speech from you?”

“No,” Harry shrugged. “But I would have thought you were capable of more with your freedom.”

In that moment something snapped. How dare Potter look down his nose at all that Draco had done. He had no idea of the time and money spent to course correct, the careful planning, the genuine desire to attone. Meanwhile Potter had spent the past few years high on the Ministry’s pedestal, practically given carte blanche on the Auror force, and what did he have to show for it? The sanctimonious ass. 

The anger Draco was feeling abated, and he was suddenly completely focused. He wanted Harry to suffer. 

“Wow. Should I be writing this down? If only I had a quill. The almighty words of Saint Potter, here to deliver me from evil.” 

Harry laughed heartlessly and took another drink. “Take it or leave it, it’s all the same to me.”

“You don’t seem to be doing too well yourself,” said Draco, wheeling on him. “Let me guess. Self-pitying national hero ends up isolated due to fat head and overwhelming sense of survivors guilt. Am I close?”

Harry gazed at the floor in front of him sombrely. 

“By the way, where are the other two thirds of the golden trio? I haven’t seen them swooning about in your wake like I remember. Did they finally get sick of your shadow?” Draco continued, walking back towards Harry and the cool blue glow of the statue. 

“Judging by the scars on your hands and the dead look in your eyes when anyone mentions your job, I reckon you’ve spent the last seven years fighting the good fight and you’ve only just realised that no matter how many dark wizards you bring in, no matter how many heads you cut off the Hydra, there’s always some new, worse evil lurking just outside your reach.” 

Potter was sitting still, letting it wash over him, but Draco knew he’d somehow struck a chord. 

“The real question is whether you realised it on your own or it took a red headed witch walking out of your life to bring you back to reality.”

Harry’s head whipped around in Draco’s direction, with a pained look. Draco assumed he’d be lunging at him wand outstretched at any moment, but Potter just sat there, shoulders slouched. He looked like a man defeated.

“I see,” said Draco coldly. “So should I alert Witch Weekly to put you back in the Bachelor Watch column or will you?”

Draco thought he would have gotten more enjoyment out of this moment, but without Harry throwing back insults, it really lost a bit of its sting. He waited expectantly for Harry to lose his cool, to relive one of the head to head matchups of their glory days, but there was none of the familiar buzz of magical tension in the air. If anything, it was all just a bit… sad.

The two sat in silence for a moment, and then Harry smiled.

“You got me,” he said as he took another swig. “It all seems a bit pointless now, doesn’t it?”

“That’s one thing we can agree on,” said Draco with a huff. Such a waste of energy to be constantly trying to please others, or fit into the mold they expected of you. If he didn’t have a legacy to uphold, he wouldn’t be doing it himself. There were times he wished he could give up the privileges of his life, if he didn’t think it would break his mother’s heart. 

He glanced back to Harry who was studying him again, the round frames of his glasses catching some of the dim blue light. He held out the flask in Draco’s direction. Draco looked at the time, still only half nine. 

“Fine,” he scoffed, crossing the black tile to grab the flask and take a seat on the base of the statue. “Had better drink if I’m going to sit with the likes of you.”

Harry laughed at that, and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up stupidly. Draco watched him out of the corner of his eye as he took a sip and felt the firewhiskey warm him from the inside. 

“You know, I meant what I said. That it’s good to see some familiar faces,” said Harry lightly. As if Draco hadn’t just threatened to end him in the last ten minutes. 

“Can’t imagine why,” said Draco, taking another drink before handing the flask back to Harry. 

“Sentimentality, maybe,” said Harry with a shrug, taking another drink himself. “You’re right. I don’t see too many old friends these days.” 

“Forgive me if I don’t pity you. Seems like you have more than enough doting fans to keep you company.”

“Yeah, those two things are exactly the same, Malfoy. Spot on,” said Harry sarcastically. 

“I’m sure you can have your birthday wish with any one of those lucky ladies. I bet you can't even remember the last time someone told you ‘no,’” said Draco, exasperated. 

“Hm,” said Harry nodding thoughtfully. “It was your birthday just gone, wasn’t it?”

Draco paused, surprised. “Why on earth would you know that?” he said, turning slightly to look at Potter in the face, knowing he’d be met with that same crooked grin. 

“It always pissed me off that you were two months older than me,” Harry said carelessly, taking another drink from the flask. 

He was about to respond when the sound of high heels could be heard clacking along the tile floor. The black curtain was drawn aside by a small hand and Angelica stepped into the blue glow of the statue, the light making her dress shimmer. 

“There you are, Draco!” she said, beaming as her eyes fell on him and rushing over to where they sat. “I just came looking for you, I think they’re setting up for a speech and then maybe dancing. I’ve just been meeting all the nicest people. And the band -- I think they may have a banshee in the group, can you believe it? Hi, Harry!”

Angelica sat gingerly on Draco’s lap, twining her arms around his neck. He was suddenly very aware of Harry’s gaze.

“Well we should see where Pansy is, she was saying she wanted to leave by ten,” said Draco, determined not to end up on a dance floor of any sort.

“I already checked! She said to tell you she was happy to stay as long as you liked” 

Of course she did, thought Draco. 

“Are you boys having a little reunion?” Angelica asked sweetly. 

“Something of the sort,” replied Draco carefully. And really, what were they doing there? Swapping old war stories? 

“Aw, I hate to break it up." She put on a pout as she toyed annoyingly with Draco's collar. "I know! Harry, why don’t you come visit us in Wiltshire?”

“I’m sure he’s busy, darling. What with being an awarded hero and all.”

“Actually, I’ve got some time off coming up,” said Harry unexpectedly. What was he playing at?

“Amazing! You should definitely come out, I’m sure my dad would love to meet you. And it seems like you guys haven’t seen each other in ages. When was the last time you visited the Manor?” 

Draco cringed, remembering the time during the war when the Manor had served as a Death Eater base. He could hear Granger’s screams ringing through the halls as his aunt laughed. He remembered looking into a deformed face of a boy, but recognising the piercing green eyes. 

“A long time ago now,” said Harry, taking another drink from the flask.

“Ooh what are you guys drinking?” asked Angelica.

“Firewhiskey,” said Harry, offering it in her direction. 

“I’m sure we could find you a glass of champa--” Draco started, in his best gentlemanly demeanour. 

“Yes please!” said Angelica, accepting the flask throwing her head back for a swig. Harry made eye contact with Draco and cracked a smile. 

“Woo! That's strong,” she exclaimed with her eyes snapped shut in a wince. Then she hopped to her feet, pulling Draco up by the hands. “Come on, boys! You too Harry, your friends are looking for you.”

Harry continued to play along for whatever reason and the three of them headed back towards the party. Angelica was babbling about some witch or other she’d met, and Harry was nodding along with a polite smile. But the gears in Draco’s head were whirling as he played through the possible scenarios of Potter’s acquiescence. 

One possibility was that he was planning to drop the farce at any moment and expose Draco as a liar, thereby embarrassing him and damaging the potential for the match. Alternatively, he was actually so in love with himself that he genuinely enjoyed Angelica’s attention, and put on this sort of friendly face for the benefit of an adoring fan. Least likely of all was that he was actually playing along to help Draco out.

Draco was quickly planning for damage control if the first situation turned out to be true, when they emerged from the curtained area onto the atrium floor and were instantly set upon by a group of Aurors. 

“There you are,” said a gaunt looking man, in a cold tone. Phil Sterling looked extremely perturbed as he glided quickly towards them. Harry in return looked passive, but stood up a little taller and idly straightened his uniform.

This was the first time Draco was seeing the Head of the Auror Department up close. There was something familiar about his expression; the straightness of the nose, the tightness of the lips. 

“Tell the Minister we’re ready for the closing speech,” Sterling directed one of the nearby Aurors, then held up his wand casting a form of _lumos_ that raised the lighting near the podium not far away.

As Sterling approached Harry, wand held aloft in one hand, he reached out to grab him by the shoulder with the other. For a moment, it almost looked like he held his hand out in the sign of benediction. Draco blinked. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but for a second he thought he’d seen this scene before; a figure of power, the stoic expression, the columns of the ministry atrium rising up behind him.

Then it struck Draco why he looked familiar -- He was looking at the Hierophant, the enforcer of rules and tradition. He tried to recall the meaning from the tarot spread Angelica had done for him, while simultaneously suppressing a tendril of belief that there was anything predictive in those cards. 

“Come along, Potter,” Sterling said with a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder. His tall frame leered over them, the creases in his thin face cast strange shadows. Harry tensed, but nodded obligingly. 

“See you,” he said to Angelica and Draco, before being quickly ushered away. Draco watched him be swallowed up by the crowd. A few pretty girls whirled around in an attempt to speak to him as he passed. And just like that, he was gone. 

“I like Harry,” said Angelica decidedly. “Was it nice to reconnect?”

“It was interesting,” said Draco honestly. 

He wanted to feel relieved that their meeting, whatever it had been, was finally over, but he couldn’t shake the weirdness of the past few hours. Beyond that, he was annoyed to even be recalling the tarot reading as though it had predicted any of this. And yet -- hadn’t Angelica said something about an opportunity to put old grudges to rest?

“So what did you two fall out over. Was it this war?” asked Angelica, with surprising shrewdness. Draco glanced down at her, and she blinked back sweetly. “It’s fine, I get it. Keep your friends close, right?” 

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the music from the band died down, and Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared on the stage in flowing purple robes. Harry stood next to him, near the podium wearing an even expression. Someone had fixed his stupid hair again.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Thank you all for attending tonight to celebrate the work of one of our nation’s finest young heroes.” 

As Kingsley rambled on, Draco considered Angelica’s comment. It was probably easy for her to guess that he and Harry weren’t exactly best mates, and making the connection to the war was a logical next step. 

However, at the start of the night, she seemed oblivious to the political situation in the UK and to his family’s affiliations. So she’d either guessed that he and Harry were on opposite sides of the fence and inferred Draco’s side, or she’d been given the information elsewhere. Either from her own research into his affairs or perhaps one of the other guests she’d met this evening. Damn, maybe he shouldn’t have let her wander off on her own. He refused to believe she had seen it with any clairvoyant powers. 

But either way, Angelica’s knowledge of his past wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’d be one less thing for him to explain at any rate. More importantly, she didn’t seem too phased by the prospect as she was suggesting it. Perhaps she had a few skeletons in her closet that he hadn’t uncovered yet. 

From his research into the DuPonts, they had been muggle sympathisers throughout the dark years. Though some of Mr. DuPont’s fortune had gone to fund certain disaffiliated political activists, and some had wound up in funds whose aims were altogether unclear. He’d have to go back to his notes and see what he could uncover. 

He noticed Kingsley’s rambling had trailed off, and looked up in time to see him gesturing to Harry to take the podium. 

“Thanks, Minister,” said Harry, looking a bit sheepish. “And thank you all for coming tonight. I’m so gracious for the support I’ve received from the ministry and from the magical community at large over the past fifteen years. It is your support, as well as the hard work of Minister Shacklebolt and of the great men and women of the Auror Department, which has helped us maintain peace in this community.”

Polite applause filled the air, and Minister Shacklebolt nodded stoically. Sterling stood coldly at his side.

“I know a lot of you still think of me as the child of some prophecy,” Harry continued slowly. “Or maybe for the role I played in the Battle of Hogwarts. And maybe you even think I’ve protected us against some great darkness. But these past five years on the force have felt like the truest time in my life, where I’ve had to look darkness in the eye. This is not work that can be done alone, nor done without sacrifice.”

Harry paused, looking out over the crowd. Members of the audience nodded along, an old woman nearby daubed a tear from her eye. 

“It seems to me it’s not one great evil that will be our undoing, but the many small evils of everyday life that we let go by. And so it will take not one man, but many to truly defeat it.”

Applause rang out again. Draco wondered if the idiots even realised they’d just been accused of letting evil slip by. 

“And so, as I congratulate Phil Sterling, for stepping up as the Head of the Auror Department this year, and Gawain Robards as he heads off on a well-earned retirement,” he nodded in the direction of the two men to scattered applause. “I would also like to take this time to announce my resignation from the force. Effective immediately.”

There were gasps from the crowd and confused murmuring. Newspaper photographers were jostling at the front of the crowd to get a picture of Harry. 

“Congratulations, sir,” he said nodding to Sterling, then back to the crowd, “We’re in good hands.”

With that he walked off the stage, and towards a back passage with Aurors flanking him. The crowd was in an uproar, as the Minister tried to regain control of the situation, clearly intending to hand the floor over to Sterling. 

Angelica’s words from earlier in the night came ringing in his ears, “ _a great burden is soon coming to an end.”_

She turned around, met Draco’s stare with a contented, knowing look, before putting on a pout and saying, “Dang. I bet that means there won’t be any dancing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing the tete-a-tete with the boys! Draco still can't seem to figure Harry out, because he only understands the world through the lens of quid pro quo. And what could Harry possibly want from Draco? Hmmmm :)
> 
> For the Fastidious Reader:  
> \- The Fountain off Magical Brethren stood in the Ministry Atrium throughout the Harry Potter series. The first time we see it was when Harry was called in for his underage magic hearing and he promises himself that if he doesn't get expelled he'll throw ten galleons in the fountain. The second time is during the Dumbledore/Voldemort duel after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, when the centaur protects Harry from the killing curse. Draco wouldn't know either of these, but I thought it'd be a good place for the scene as it's a spot that would mean something to Harry.


	4. The Five of Swords (Part 1)

“Don’t be angry,” said Angelica in a sweetly pleading voice. 

“I’m not angry,” said Draco, through gritted teeth. 

“I thought you’d be happy to see him!” she continued, toying with the hem of her pleated pink skirt. “Besides, we need a fourth player to make it even.” 

“No of course,” said Draco as he re-read the note the owl had just dropped off. “It makes perfect sense.”

It did not make perfect sense. 

He had planned the day trip to Scotland with Angelica and her father for some carefully curated bonding time. They were to spend the bulk of the day engaged in one of Edgar DuPont’s favourite pastimes -- golf. 

Draco had already planned a series of interesting topics and anecdotes to discuss, and had done all the quiet research necessary to be able to bring up shared pleasures as though it were coincidence. He’d sprung for expensive training sessions to familiarise himself with the muggle sport enough to pass for a skilled amateur. He’d even secured a dinner booking in the private dining room with a degustation to highlight some of the local culinary delicacies. By the end of the night, He would have charmed his way right into the hearts and pockets of this family. 

What he had not planned on was Angelica owling Harry Potter to extend an invitation to this excursion. 

He had furthermore not planned on Potter, now unemployed, to accept said invitation. For all his wits, Draco could not understand what Potter would find appealing about spending some of his newly acquired free time wandering around the misty fields of Dornoch with one former enemy and two bumbling Americans, hitting around a tiny ball with a stick. 

He would have found this an interesting puzzle to mull over, if he wasn’t using all of his mental energy to suppress his feelings of utter annoyance. 

“Ok good!” said Angelica, flopping back in an overly stuffed leather armchair. “This will be fun. Daddy has played all the best courses. One time, in New Zealand, we got dropped off by a helicopter halfway up a mountain. He always says that he gets some of his best business deals done on the golf course.”

This was certainly the type of golf course where important business deals were done. The Carnegie Club was one of the most elite golf clubs in Europe. So elite, in fact, that Draco hadn’t managed to find a way to book as a non member, and Angelica had instead suggested leveraging one of her father’s many other club memberships to secure an invitation to the course. To his further annoyance, that had worked. 

He now found himself in a high ceilinged, overly opulent drawing room in the clubhouse, with crackling fireplaces and floor to ceiling arched windows that overlooked an expanse of green. Every surface was covered in either dark wood, polished marble, or books. Though he had spent many hours of his life in rooms of comparable opulence, he was frustrated that for once the air of exclusivity was directed at him. 

But no matter, for one day he could suck it up and play golf if that’s what it took to please this family. Besides, it wasn’t as though he looked like he didn’t fit in with these people. He did, however, feel ridiculous in the muggle outfit that Angelica had picked out for him which included a cable knit sweater vest. 

As Angelica chattered on, Draco stared evenly out the clubhouse windows, gripping the leather arms of his chair. For a moment he pictured himself as an old man in this very chair, 50 years into this marriage, with an elderly Angelica babbling on raspily about some golf trip or other they’d been on in the past. Merlin, he’d have to draw some lines as soon as the ink was dry on this marriage. 

“--And they had trained grindylows in all the water hazards to retrieve lost balls!” said Angelica, dissolving into laughter. 

“Are you telling Draco the Augusta story?” said a deep, jovial voice from behind them. “One of those suckers nearly took my foot off!” 

Edgar DuPont, a thickly-built man with round, shiny cheeks, entered the sitting room through one of the wide archways and took a seat opposite them on a large, baroquely patterned settee. He was balding with wispy hairs forming a sort of clear nest on top of his head, and sat with his knees widely apart as though he were in his own home. He was dressed in a crisp white polo and khaki golfing trousers, and somehow managed to exude a boyish exuberance and the refined manner of wealth at the same time. 

Over the course of the few weeks he’d spent in England, Mr DuPont had occupied his time with various business meetings and fancy meals with old acquaintances. This would be one of the first opportunities for Draco to have prolonged one-on-one time with him since he and Angelica had arrived. Although the one or two accounts he’d heard from his father years ago about Mr DuPont were that he was an oaf, and a bleeding-heart muggle sympathiser to boot, Draco was determined to get on his good side. 

“Gives a whole new meaning to the term water hazard,” said Draco, regaining his composure and putting on his best “ideal future son” demeanour. 

He was met with booming laughter from Mr DuPont, who slapped a knee and said “That’s good! I’m gonna steal that one.” 

“Daddy, we just heard from Draco’s friend Harry who’s free to come play with us today,” said Angelica brightly.

“Excellent,” said DuPont. “This is your veteran friend, Draco?” 

“Yes, that’s the one,” piped up Angelica before Draco could reply. “He’s just coming by floo, so he should be here any minute.” 

“Good, good. Always an honour to meet a soldier. We’ve got a lot to thank those boys for. You guys want coffee?” He gestured for a member of the wait staff to come over.

“Yes, please,” said Angelica.

“Just a tea for me,” said Draco.

“Nonsense, you really need a good cup of coffee if you’re going to play well at this hour. I should know!” boomed Mr DuPont, Angelica nodded along. “Two black coffees for us and uh, what do you think Harry would like?” 

Draco opened his mouth to respond.

“You know what? Better just make it four black coffees,” said DuPont, as he settled back on the settee. 

“So, I was thinking we could have you two play together as one team and me and Harry as another,” said Angelica.

“You sure you don’t want to play with Draco, sweetie?” 

“Well I’ve been hogging him all week, so I thought that would give you some time to get to know each other.”

“What do you think, sport? Can we take her?”

“Well I--”

“Come on dad, do you really want to make this competitive? I smoked you at Pebble Beach, remember?” said Angelica playfully.

“You better watch out for this one,” said DuPont to Draco, shaking a playful finger at his daughter. “Six summers in a row we got her golfing lessons, until she outgrew the coach. When she was little, we even thought about going pro.”

“Daddy,” she said in mock exasperation.

“I’m serious! He oughta know what he’s in for.” DuPont smiled proudly. 

“She’s full of surprises,” managed Draco, casting a loving yet chaste expression in her direction. “Have you played this course before, Mr DuPont?” Draco knew for a fact he hadn’t, but he needed to get some footing in the conversion if he was going to make a good impression. 

“How many times do I have to tell you -- Call me Eddie!” said DuPont loudly.

“Of course,” said Draco, as DuPont waited expectantly. “… Eddie.” 

“That’s what I love about the English, so polite!” he said with a deep laugh. “Actually today will be my first time on this course. Which is funny, really, because we’re members at its sister club, Carnegie Abbey, back in Rhode Island.”

“Yes, Angelica had mentioned--”

“And I’ll tell you something else,” interrupted DuPont. “Andrew Carnegie, he was an early American businessman. Lots of crossover with some of our family as well back in those days, Angie. Muggle of course though, so he stuck to steel. Anyway, turns out he was Scottish descent, which is why he bought this place a few hundred years ago.”

“Daddy loves history,” supplied Angelica, indulgently. 

“How interesting,” said Draco, as the waitress returned with their coffees. “And what of the history of the DuPont family?” 

“Draco don’t, he’ll never stop!” Angelica joked.

“Gunpowder was where we got our start. Old Pierre DuPont emigrated from France in the early 1800s and used a background in alchemy to start selling products to muggles. Thank you,” He handed the waiter a cash tip, at which she looked thoroughly startled. “The family has a long line of gifted alchemists, and after the war they switched tact to pharmaceuticals. You know, healing potions and the like at first.”

“That didn’t breach the International Statute of Wizarding of Wizarding Secrecy?” asked Draco, taking a sip of the horrendously bitter coffee and trying not to grimace.

“Well now that’s a good question, I like where your head’s at. And the truth is, it definitely toed the line. Ultimately the business now is in complete compliance with the statute. We keep our magical and non magical branches totally separate.”

“Forgive me for asking, but why keep the chemical company running altogether? Surely the products coming out of your alchemy lab are far superior,” said Draco, with genuine interest. Having grown up in a world almost completely divorced from non-magical beings, he’d often wondered what it was about the industrious little muggle populations that kept people like Edgar DuPont and Arthur Weasley interested in them. 

“You’re absolutely right, the magical products are superior. You can heal a fully broken body overnight with skelegrow, where you can only hope to numb the pain with muggle pharmaceuticals. But that’s where the money is,” said DuPont with a shrug and a swig of coffee. “Population size alone is a factor.”

“Hm, makes sense,” mused Draco. He didn’t care a lick about broken muggle bones, but when it came to financial return he was all ears. “If less than half a percent of the population is magical --and I assume the concentration is similar in the US-- then we’re talking what, 250 million individuals in your non-magical customer base versus a million or so in the magical population?”

“That’s absolutely right,” said DuPont, nodding approvingly.

“And I suspect the production cost is substantially cheaper. You can probably machine produce chemicals, whereas you need an alchemist to individually manage any potions production. Then there’s the question of quality control.”

“I like this one,” he said to Angelica as he pointed a meaty hand at Draco. She blushed prettily. “You didn’t tell me he had a head for business.” 

Draco was just starting to feel back in control of the conversation when the fireplace near them roared up with green flames and Harry stepped out, straightening his glasses and running a hand over his hair in attempt to flatten it. A small cloud of dark ash kicked up around his ankles as he stepped over the hearth onto the pristine persian rug.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he caught sight of them. He looked like he’d had about a hundred hours of sleep since Draco had last laid eyes on him. He was dressed in a refined sort of sporty muggle outfit with navy pants and a dark grey jumper. Draco immediately regretted Angelica’s help on his wardrobe for the day. 

“Harry!” she squealed as she jumped up from the armchair to give him a big hug. “So glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invite, I was going a bit stir crazy at home,” he said, casting a smile in Draco’s direction before turning to Mr DuPont’s and extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Call me Eddie!” said Dupont, giving Harry a firm handshake. “Angie’s been singing your praises all morning. Do you golf, son?” 

“I’ve been a few times, but I’m certainly no expert. Feel free to leave me in the dust if I’m slowing us down,” he said with his familiar self-effacing grin. “Malfoy,” he said, turning to Draco and extending a hand. 

“Potter, I was so surprised to hear you were coming,” said Draco pointedly. “I would have thought there were so many other things you’d rather be doing with your newly found freedom.” 

“Well I just thought, how could I miss an opportunity to face off with my old Quidditch rival, you know?” Harry replied with a glint in his eye. Draco dropped his hand. 

“Harry, it's going to be us versus these two, but I think we can take 'em,” said Angelica jubilantly. “We’ll play all 18 holes together, and tally up our scores on both sides.”

“I’m game,” said Harry. “When do we start?” 

“We were just finishing our coffee and then we tee off at 10,” said Angelica. “We got one for you if you like.” 

“Hope you’re ok with black,” said DuPont, handing the mug to Harry. 

“Dying for one actually, thanks,” said Harry, taking a big sip. 

Mr DuPont nodded approvingly. Angelica started babbling on about the cards she had pulled for the day which had said they were in for a close game. Harry sat contentedly on the end of the settee and listened. Completely at ease, as though he hadn’t come with the express intention of ruining Draco’s carefully laid out plans. 

Draco stared into his own cup of dark, bitter coffee and completely dreaded having to get through this day. 

***

Golf, in Draco’s opinion, was an absolutely ludicrous sport which involved more luck than skill to hit a snitch-sized ball about a mile away into a cup. He was shocked that anyone could possibly desire to play this game, much less play it without magic, but he was nevertheless glad he had taken the bet on lessons so he didn’t look completely clueless.

As they tee’d off on the first hole, Angelica’s prowess for the sport was immediately apparent. She carefully lined up her shot, and then with a graceful move that looked about as fluid as a well cast _wingardium leviosa,_ she swung the club through the air and made contact with a satisfying crack. She followed the arc of the ball with a look of murderous determination on her face and it sailed through the air bang on target towards the distant flag. As it bounced on the fairway, she twirled around to face the boys with a girlish shrug and practically skipped towards them to allow her father to the tee box. 

“Well done, Angel!” said DuPont in passing, a crisp Scottish breeze whipping around his clear nest of flyaway hairs. “Alright boys, best to keep a low ball with this level of wind. Watch and learn.” Mr Dupont made contact with a comparably loud crack, sending the ball sailing. Draco could have sworn the ball course-corrected in midair, as DuPont jerked his head to urge it towards the centre of the fairway but he turned around beaming just the same. 

To his annoyance, Potter had a similarly strong first shot, although it went a bit high and veered slightly towards the left with the direction of the wind. So much for being a novice. As Draco walked up to the box for his turn, he was concentrating as hard as possible on making a better shot than Potter. He set his ball up on the self-teeing grass, squared off his shoulders, and knocked the ball hard. It went high and left, landing close to Potter’s ball. 

“Alright, now we know what we’re working with,” said DuPont, clapping Draco on the shoulder as he walked by. Their enchanted golf trolleys rolled dutifully behind them as Angelica and Mr DuPont headed down the fairway to their balls, the two of them exchanging delighted conversation about their strokes. 

Draco tossed his club back in the trolley and stalked off towards his ball, Harry quickly falling in step beside him. 

“I didn’t know you fancied golf,” said Harry.

“I don't,” said Draco in a huff.

“You know Hagrid of all people is actually into golf these days. I visited him earlier this summer and he’d set up a small green down by the forest. Would you believe he set one of the holes near the whomping willow? Nearly took my head off when I was putting.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and wheeled around to face Harry. “Alright out with it. What do you want?” He could feel the colour rising in his face. 

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, coming to a stop next to him and looking thoroughly confused. 

“You can’t possibly be here to play golf, so what is it you’re really up to? Trying to expose me for a fraud, hm? Because I’ll have you know it will not work, I’ve already gotten Edgar's blessing on the match, it’s practically a done deal,” he lied. 

“Look, I came because Angelica owled me and I had nothing else on today,” said Harry frankly. 

“Oh so it’s about Angelica is it? If you’ve got your sights set on her you can think again because she is head over heels for me. You must be confusing her overbearing personality for a semblance of affection,” he sneered, leaning into Harry’s space.

Harry blinked back at Draco before brushing past him as he walked off toward the ball, knocking shoulders as he went. “Merlin, you’re insufferable,” he muttered.

“ _I’m_ insufferable?” hissed Draco as he marched behind him, trying not to speak too loudly as to be overheard by the other two. “You’ve come barging in on my quality time with my fiancée, attempting to upstage me at _golf_ of all things, and I’m the insufferable one? Should I expect the Prophet journalists waiting at the 18th hole to cover your win? ‘Putting Potter Mystefies Malfoy’?”

“And here I thought I was in for a relaxing day,” mused Harry under his breath. “Right, my mistake. Let’s just carry on with a friendly game and afterwards we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Not a chance,” snapped Draco. “Thought you could come waltzing in here and beat me at a muggle sport, did you? Oh, it’s on. I’m going to crush you at this game.” 

“Oh yeah?” said Harry, who was starting to look cross. “Fine, you’re on Malfoy. You must have forgotten all the times I trampled you in Quidditch. Maybe this will shut you up for once.” 

Draco scoffed. “Your big ego must be getting in the way of your memory. Slytherin beat Gryffindor practically every year.”

“Well it’s too bad you don’t have Flint here to tee off for you, we’ll have to see how much that team carried you after all.”

“Too bad you don’t have Snape here to blame when you lose control of your club.”

“Unbelievable,” said Harry. 

The two of them stalked the last few paces to their balls and stood in tense silence till Harry could take his next turn. 

Draco was fuming, but anger happened to be good for his concentration and he was feeling confident he could beat Potter for the day. Whatever his intentions may be, he was determined to make sure Potter didn’t get any chances to one up him. 

In the distance he could see Angelica speaking into her father’s ear as the two of them glanced towards him and Harry. Draco smiled calmly in their direction and considered whether they were far enough away for him to hex Potter without them hearing. 

When it was time for Harry’s turn, he took aim and gave a practice swing. His hair was whipping about in the wind, but being as it was always messy, it kept landing in attractively ruffled shapes. 

“Looking a bit stiff there, Potter,” Draco called as Harry was getting back into place. “Should we owl Lockhart and see if he can come take all the bones out of your arm?”

“I think I can manage,” replied Harry without turning to look at him. For a moment, Draco was fixed on the green eyes and dark brows as Harry lined up his shot. He was reminded of the same fiery look of focus when they used to dive head to head for the snitch. 

Harry had been smaller then, like a malnourished puppy. Now, he was filled out across the chest. Strong arms raised the club and brought it down in a neat arc, making a loud crack of contact with the ball. As it landed and rolled a short way towards the flag, Angelica called out, “Woo! Go, Harry!” and bounced up and down, her skirt flouncing around her in the breeze. If Angelica really did see something in Harry, he might actually be in trouble.

At that moment, the git turned around with a broad smile on his face. Draco froze as he felt a flutter of something that must have been hatred deep in his chest. Harry caught his eye and winked before turning and sloping off towards his ball. Draco was furious to end two strokes behind Harry as their scores on the first hole were tallied.

Draco managed to get some alone time with Mr DuPont on the second hole and tried to strike up a conversation about Quidditch, knowing that Edgar was a supporter of the American national team. But it turned out that he was a much bigger fan of Quodpot, and shifted the conversation to a comparison of the relative merits of Quodpot over Quidditch, which included such reasons as: more athletic players, more scoring, and being generally more interesting to watch. Draco retained his composure until Mr DuPont compared Quidditch to ballet on brooms, and then promptly turned the conversation to the weather. 

At the following hole, Draco had a shocker of a first shot, and his sliced ball landed somewhere in the tall grass while the others walked together down the fairway. He could see the three of them chatting animatedly, and Harry was telling a story where he was gesturing wildly, which had both DuPonts in stitches. 

He could hear Angelica’s laugh ringing around the course as he stomped through the grass looking for his ball, scattering a few garden gnomes who were hiding there, including one that was holding his ball high above his tiny head with both stumpy arms. He knocked it gently out of the gnome’s hands with his club, which caused the gnome to doubleback and attempt to bite him on the ankle. By the time he looked up, Angelica was correcting Harry’s posture and pointing as though she was giving tips on the shot. When Harry chipped the ball onto the green on his next shot, she jumped up and down exuberantly and gave him a hug around the neck. 

Draco managed to knock his ball back on the green, but not before stupefying every gnome in sight. 

At his next pass with Mr DuPont, he revisited his mental list of conversation topics, wearing out travel destinations, favourite books, and musical preferences before landing back on sport again. This ultimately led him to the topic of recent Quodpot match highlights, to which he could only nod along agreeably. This was not good. Only four holes into the game and his list was already running dry. Plus, he wasn’t sure how much more agreeable nodding along to Quodpot lectures he had in him. 

Meanwhile, Angelica and Harry seemed to have buddied up. She could be seen rambling on about something or other while Harry looked on and nodded, smiling and commenting every so often. As much as Draco wanted alone time with Edgar, he also didn’t want Angelica cozying up to his rival. If push came to shove, he wasn’t sure how attractive a future with him looked compared with what was certainly a life of fame and financial stability on Harry’s arm. 

It was this motivation that enabled him to hit a par on the next hole, which got the attention of both DuPonts squarely back in his direction. He smirked at Harry. 

“Nicely done!” boomed Mr DuPont. “I think that puts us in the lead, Angie.” 

“Only just!” she called back. “Lucky shot. I reckon we catch back up on the next hole.”

“Is that a premonition or guess, Darling?” Draco chimed in. Angelica raised her eyebrows but smiled at the challenge.

“Ooh boy, you’re playing with fire,” laughed Mr DuPont.

“I’d back that guess,” said Harry casually. “What do you say, Malfoy. Would you bet ten galleons against the word of a clairvoyant?”

“Why not,” replied Draco, his lip curling. “Eddie and I are just warming up.” 

Unfortunately for Draco, the wind picked up his drive on the following hole and Harry made it in a bogey, putting them back in the lead. He could hear Angelica laughing with him as they headed down the course, and something that sounded distinctly like the word ‘ferret’.

By the time he was alone with Angelica a few holes later, Draco was thoroughly paranoid about what she and Harry could be talking about behind his back. He managed to bring it up nonchalantly, or at least he was pretty sure he did.

“Harry hasn’t been saying anything strange has he?” Draco asked in a casual tone. “Only because I read in the paper that he got a serious confundus to the head on his last case, and the Prophet said it might have addled his brain. Thought I'd better keep an eye on him.” 

“Nothing odd, just this and that,” she replied. “He was telling me the funniest story earlier about an Auror case he was on where a gangster thought his old crime boss was stalking him back from the dead, and it turned out to be a boggart! Can you imagine.”

“Hilarious,” said Draco, mirthlessly. “Just like Potter to be joking around when we’ve got a serious game to play here.”

“Well it’s not _that_ serious, Draco,” she said fixing him with her pretty blue eyes and nudging him with her shoulder. “I’ll understand if you can’t hold your own against me.” 

“Will you, now? Well that’s a relief, I’ve only got your father to worry about impressing then,” he said, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. 

“You’re not afraid to lose to me?” she asked, with an edge of challenge in her voice.

“On the contrary, I happen to find strong women incredibly attractive” He said, smiling down at her. Losing to her was not an issue. Losing to Potter on the other hand was not an option.

“You have to say that because you’re already losing,” she said playfully, knocking into him. He snaked his arm around her waist and gave her a quick squeeze. 

“Excuse me, but are you questioning my honour? I happen to come from a long line of powerful women who never let me win. Have you met my mother? I haven’t beaten her in chess to this day.”

“And Pansy,” Angelica supplied. “She certainly keeps you on your toes, I can already tell.”

What was she getting at? Best to be careful when discussing women with other women, he thought to himself.

“Yes, I suppose growing up together as two only children we became something of siblings. She has no qualms telling me everything I’m doing wrong at any given moment.”

Angelica laughed. “If she doesn’t do it, who will!” 

This was interesting. For as childish as Angelica tended to be on certain topics, he was surprised to detect no hint of jealousy.

“I completely agree, for what it’s worth,” she continued, looking out over the green and tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Life is more fun when you’re evenly matched.”

Her words had the ring of sagely advice, and for the first time he considered whether he and Angelica really could be evenly matched. Of course the marriage would be a front, as many marriages in their circle were, but maybe behind it all there was a chance for actual friendship. 

There had been glimmers over the past few weeks of real brains behind those bouncing waves. She was certainly strategic, and at times she seemed just on the edge of saying something compelling, before biting her tongue and falling back on something airheaded. But he liked her like she was now; frank, open, competitive. 

He followed her gaze out over the fairway to where Harry and her father were talking and nodding in the distance. They looked to be discussing something serious and Draco could feel his fingers tightening into a fist at the thought of what Potter might be saying about him or his father or their connections to a certain dark lord. 

“Relax,” said Angelica, running her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “He likes you. I can tell.” 

“Your father?” asked Draco.

“Oh! That reminds me, there was one thing Harry brought up that was strange,” she said abruptly. “He was asking about his reading, you know, from the gala night. He wanted to know more about this betrayal.”

“Hm,” said Draco, trying very hard not to sound interested.

“I told him of course that I’d already revealed everything I’d seen in the cards. But he did seem a bit distressed. He was asking whether if he gave me names I could tell him which one was involved.” 

“What names did he give you?”

“I told him not to bother, it doesn’t work that way,” she said with a light shrug.

Of course it didn’t. In his limited experience with divination, it seemed it was always the most useful information that was conveniently out of reach. 

“Have you thought at all about your reading?” she asked, turning her eyes back to him.

“Not really,” he lied. 

He hadn’t told her that he nearly thought he saw the Hierophant when Sterling had approached them at the gala, nor had he mentioned his surprise at the accuracy of her reading following Potter's revelation about leaving the force. He had, in fact, been dwelling quite a bit more than he’d like to admit on the possible meaning behind his present and future cards - the inverted five of swords (putting old grudges to rest), and the knight of wands (some new opportunity supposedly awaiting him).

Whenever he thought of squashing old arguments, Potter's annoying face came swimming into view. He’d replayed their conversation at the statue over and over, wondering if his longtime foe had really grown past their old differences. Wondering why it was he thought Draco would do more with his life than marry rich. 

“Well, if you were thinking about resolving past disputes, now is as good a time as any,” she said with an encouraging little smile.

“Like he’ll ever come around to it,” Draco scoffed. If the day ever came where Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy put old arguments to rest, he’d donate a thousand galleons to the Save the Hippogriff Foundation.

“He would, he was just talking to me about it the other night.” 

“Really?” There was a strange grip in his chest. 

“Yes! Daddy says it was so many years ago now it’s stupid to hang on to. He’s probably already over it, but I know it would mean more hearing you say it.”

Right, the family dispute over muggle rights or some such nonsense. 

“Yes, you’re right,” he said absently 

“Thank you, Draco. It means a lot to me,” she said sweetly, putting on her best doe-eyed expression. 

“You can make it up to me later,” he teased. 

At this she turned around to face him, her small hands trailed down the front of his shirt and gently untucked it. Uh oh, teasing Angelica was not the same as teasing Pansy. 

“Well I was thinking…” she said in a low voice, as a hand slipped under the hem of his shirt and feathered across his waist. “What if we get away together for my last weekend? Maybe go up to London and get a hotel?”

“What would your father say?” asked Draco, feigning interest while trying to position himself behind Angelica so nothing looked off from Mr DuPont’s vantage point. Her small, insistent hand was creeping up his chest.

“Maybe we could take P and play it off like she and I will room together,” she suggested with a slow blink. He was suddenly struck with the mental image of Angelica attempting to look seductive in pink frilly underthings and a pouty face, and for the first time wondered if he'd be able to play believably interested.

“As much as I can’t wait to get you alone to myself, I would hate for your father to think of me as indecent,” he said in a similarly hushed tone, grabbing her wrist to keep it going up any farther.

She fixed him with an incredulous look and laughed. “Merlin, you’re being so serious today! It’ll be fine, he knows what happens when two people love each other. Besides, you have asked to marry me, haven’t you?”

“Are you accepting my offer?” Draco responded, leaning in.

“You two!” called Angelica’s father from across the course. Draco took a rapid step away from her and held her by the shoulder at arm’s length, but Mr DuPont hadn’t seemed to notice anything untoward. “You’re up, princess!” 

Angelica burst into giggles. “Coming!” she called. 

“Look we can figure it out later,” she said, turning back to Draco with a flirtatious look. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten. I want some real alone time before I go... I think it would really help me make my decision.” 

“In that case, how can I say no,” said Draco with the best smile he could muster. This ended up being more a statement than rhetorical question. 

“Great!” she said, bounding away with a satisfied air. “Oh and if all else fails with my dad, just talk business. He seemed really impressed by that.” 

He smiled after her and attempted to exude a demeanour of nonchalance as he watched her line up her next shot, but internally his mind was whirring away, calculating how all of the pieces of his plan would fit together with this new request. He’d been hoping he could ward off any intimacy until they were a few months down the track. Angelica had seemed so conservative at first glance and had been perfectly demure at the Manor.

It would be fine, he told himself, he’d done this kind of thing before. He could get through it if it meant sealing the deal. Only a few months of good behaviour and he would be sure to get his family name back in society’s good books. Then he’d break the news to Angelica and go back to doing however he pleased. Sure there’d be a period of adjustment, but once the old blood magic was in place there was little either of them could gain from breaking the bond. 

Step one, squash the old family grievances with Edgar and get his blessing on the match, even if it meant aligning his political beliefs to some kind of muggle equality stance. Step two, do whatever he needed to do to convince Angelica of his undying love and get her to accept his proposal. Step three, enter into the marriage and resolve the family’s financial pressures, a few of which were becoming increasingly problematic. Step four-- well that was it really. He’d been so focused on getting to the point of retribution that he hadn’t thought much further past step three. 

He felt a gnawing sensation of being on the edge of a decision he would later regret. If everything went according to plan, wouldn’t he be playing right into the expectations Potter had laid out to him? Potter, who at this moment was looking on calmly with his hands in his pockets, wearing an infuriating expression like he knew what Draco was thinking. Draco glared back. Was he really destined to follow in the steps of his father after all? 

He hardly heard when Angelica was calling his name to take his shot, and his golf trolley had to nudge him from behind to get his attention. He snapped back into the present and tried to push the thoughts out of his mind as he stepped onto the grass. First things first, he thought, he just needed to focus on step one and getting through this game.

But his muggle clothes were feeling particularly warm all of a sudden and he could feel sweat on his brow. And why did it feel like the air was suddenly stagnant? The pressure of Mr Dupont's expectant gaze, Angelica sizing him up, and Potter just physically being present culminated in Draco miscalculating into a sand trap. Unacceptable.

*** 

They were reaching the end of the front nine when Draco had a chance to connect with Mr DuPont again. He’d taken a particularly strong first shot and he and Edgar were heading in the same direction towards their balls. 

He was thinking of step one and how he could navigate the conversation back towards resolving the family drama when Mr DuPont spoke up. “You’re much better at this than your father, you know.”

“At what?” Draco asked, surprised. 

“Golf, of course!” DuPont replied with a chuckle. 

His father? Golf? He couldn’t even picture the two things together. 

But before he could respond, DuPont continued, “You know, for someone who carried around a cane all the time, you’d think he would have been be a little better with a club.”

“You played golf with my father?” Draco asked, hesitantly. He was almost certain this could not be the case. He couldn’t remember a time his father had touched a non-magical item, much less picture him walking around a green.

“Of course! We used to do business dealings on the course. That is until he backed out on our joint venture. Never could forgive him for that, though it hardly matters now, poor sucker,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. 

“Business dealings… with my father?” said Draco, still trying to wrap his mind around what was being said. In all the accounts he’d heard of his father’s ties to the American wizarding community, he was positive neither golf nor a business venture with Edgar DuPont had ever been mentioned. 

“Is there an echo in here?” said DuPont, jabbing Draco in the ribs with his elbow. “Of course I would have thought you knew all about this. Angie said you wanted to talk to me about the old issues between our family. Though if I know Lucius, I’m sure he didn’t give you the full story -- but I won’t speak badly of a man in Azkaban. And I’m happy to set the record straight.” 

“My understanding of the old family issues was that they were about political alliances,” said Draco tentatively. “Specifically my family’s stance on magical and non-magical relations.” 

“And what would that stance be?” DuPont enquired. It was clear to Draco now that they were talking about two completely different issues. How much should he divulge?

“The relative rights of the non magical and er, muggle born in the broader wizarding society.”

“Spit it out, son,” said DuPont looking confused. 

“Well sir, though I don’t condone it, you should know that my father was tried and convicted for his participation in certain pure-blood supremacy groups,” said Draco in a rush. 

Mr Dupont stopped in his tracks and his magical trolley bounced off his ankles and wheeled quickly away in a worried manner. He fixed Draco with a look of surprise and let out a big belly laugh. 

“I can assure you, that my mother and I have distanced ourselves from such a legacy. Angelica would have no ties to--”

“No, no,” DuPont interrupted, waving a hand. “No, I know all about that. Doesn’t bother me.” 

“No? Well that’s--”

“Good, yes. We can put that one to rest. It’s funny really, that that’ll be Lucius’s legacy. As far as I knew, he didn’t believe a lick of it. See, I first met your father when we were about your age. My father worked with your grandfather, Abraxas, on renewed international trade relations between the US and the UK, so we used to hop the pond a few times a year. 

“We grew pretty close, Lucius and I. At the time, Abraxas was negotiating trade agreements on behalf of both magical and non-magical communities, so he was certainly looking out for muggles then. I think he even had a seat in parliament if I recall. What really impressed me was your family’s long history of close ties with muggle royalty, back to medieval times I’ve been told.” 

This was… true. Draco had seen the archival family histories in the Manor library, which told of such ties, though his father had done his best to bury these facts in the years leading up to the war. How could a wizard from halfway around the world possibly be aware of this?

DuPont had come to a standstill by his ball and was motioning his trolley over so he could select his next club as he continued talking. “From what I could gather, the tide started changing when old Voldy-whatsit started to rise to power in the 60s or 70s.” Draco physically cringed at this flippant retelling, but DuPont seemed not to notice. 

“Abraxas got it in his head that this guy would succeed where others, like Grindelwald, had failed. And if there’s one thing the Malfoys are good at above all else it’s strategic alliances.” At this he tapped his nose and gave Draco a knowing look. Draco sputtered, but DuPont carried on. 

“So he and Lucius re-wrote the history. Scratched out all the muggle alliances, even covered up some of their more sizable investments in muggle businesses. I assume you’ve taken a look at the books, so this is probably old news to you. But then things started to get a little hairy when it became clear that this new guy, this ‘Dark Lord,’ was after personal immortality and soul magic over some of these lofty ideals he’d been touting. Once there was talk of a new world order, only the fanatics were still the true followers. The rest were locked in out of fear.”

Draco felt numb. He was pretty sure his mouth was open, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Mr Dupont was casually wiping at a smudge on one of his clubs before selecting it and taking a few practice swings through the air. 

“Yep, that was before you were born. I still saw Lucius two or three times a year back then. I remember the first time I saw him after that empire fell, he was a changed man. It was tangible, like he’d become unshackled from some great weight. And here’s where we get to the interesting part.” 

He turned towards Draco and took a few paces, stopping when they were face to face, his expression unreadable. Draco suddenly realised how large he was. 

“The disagreement?” he ventured.

“That’s right,” said DuPont, nodding. “See Lucius thought he was off the hook. He’d been able to flip flop extremely effectively between political camps, while he continued to make money off his muggle investments. He’d had his cake and ate it too, as it were. He was doing so well that a few years later when he was back in good standing politically, he signed a contract with me to invest as joint partners into bringing DuPont Pharmaceuticals into the UK. A deal we made over a particularly good game of golf in fact.”

Draco could almost see the pieces falling as Mr DuPont laid them out. He knew what was coming next, and it felt like a rock in his stomach. 

“Then, all of a sudden, who should rise to power, but the very same Dark Lord, back from the dead. Your father was like a dog with his tail between his legs. He sold his shares in every muggle venture, terrified of what would happen if he was found to be at odds with the ideals of his political faction. He reneged on our deal, and without his connections we were unable to launch in the country. Cost me millions,” DuPont said shaking his head at the memory, his grip tightening on the club propped up at his side.

“I had no idea,” said Draco, his mouth like sandpaper. In a matter of moments he’d gone from feeling like he had all the cards in his hands, to questioning whether anything his father had told him of his life before the war was true. 

“I can see that,” said DuPont, stepping closer and putting a meaty hand on Draco’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but the good news is it’s behind us now. I can see you’re not the same man your father was, and I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. Besides, I hate to say it, but he came out far worse than I did.” 

“And the pureblood sentiment had nothing to do with it?” asked Draco distractedly, still trying to understand how it all fit together. 

“You want Merlin’s honest truth?” said DuPont leaning in close to Draco’s ear, his nest of clear hairs whipping around in the breeze at close range. “I don’t give a damn about Muggles. Couldn’t care one way or the other.” 

Draco frowned reflexively, and Mr DuPont took a step back and laughed when he saw Draco’s face. 

“I know right! It always cracked me up how much weight you English put on lineage. But in America, we know someone’s only worth how much money they’ve got in their pockets, not what kind of blood they’ve got in their veins. Don’t let all this Dark Lord mumbo jumbo fool you.”

Draco was floored. How could he have thought mere hours ago that this man was of the same ilk as Arthur Wesley. “So the Pharma business isn’t about helping muggles, it’s about—“ 

“Making a buck? Yeah, I guess you could say that,” said DuPont with a shrug. “But if life gives you a buck, build an empire.” 

At that moment Angelica was calling from the green to get their attention and Mr DuPont was setting up to take his shot.

“Alrighty then, you ready to take this home?” he said as he lined up towards the green. “If we can both putt under 2 we’ll be in the lead heading into lunch. And I always have a better appetite when I’m winning.” 

Draco stood there stupidly for a few moments, doing nothing but processing the information he’d just received. He’d need to have a serious conversation with his mother for starters, and probably a serious recalibration of his long term plans. But he wasn’t in the mood for planning. He suddenly wondered if Lucius’s planning and obsessive control of his piece of the world had ultimately been his undoing. 

He went through the motions of his final few strokes, but there was a strange ringing in his ears that seemed to dull the sounds around him. He putted abysmally, which meant Angelica and Harry were in the lead after the round. He plastered on a smile as Angelica came bouncing towards him babbling about something or other and he could hear the deep tones of Mr DuPont’s voice scolding her playfully. 

All of a sudden, a pair of bright green eyes appeared in front of him and the world around him came into focus. Harry was smiling broadly and saying something.

“What was that?” said Draco.

“I said, if we knew you were this good at avoiding the goal, we could have made you a keeper.” Harry paused, waiting for Draco to react.

Draco couldn’t even muster up the energy to be annoyed by the git. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now’s not the fucking time, Potter.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that one ended up a fair bit longer than I’d predicted. And there’s more golf where that came from! We’ll see what interesting revelations await our crew on the back nine. 
> 
> My inspiration for Mr DuPont comes from working in American companies with that classic bottom-line approach. I wanted him to be a CEO-type who, like Lucius, knows that you have to rub shoulders with the right people to get to the top, but at his core is motivated more by financial gain than by societal ideals. I reckon Edgar and Lucius would have had some fiery conversations in their day.
> 
> Incidentally, as this (intended to be) short story gets a bit longer, I’m on the lookout for a beta reader. I also have another much longer Harry-centric story I’m working on in the background that I could use a pair of experienced eyes over. Let me know if this sort of thing is your jam and you’re liking the vibe so far as the rest of my stories will probably be more of the same (much internal musing, deep connection to the HP lore, and a little bit of slash on the side.) 
> 
> For the fastidious reader  
> \- The Carnegie Club is a real course in Scotland, established by famous Scottish-American businessman Andrew Carnegie. A fun parallel for this chapter, as he’s probably as close to American royalty as you can get. The course itself is a links style course, which means there’s no trees to break the wind, so Mr DuPont’s advice would hold. Also the rooms in this place are stunning, it’s worth a google.  
> \- HP lore does associate the Malfoys with old Muggle royalty. It’s said that even Malfoy Manor was a gift from King William the first.


	5. The Five of Swords (Part 2)

Back at the clubhouse after the front nine, Draco was desperately grateful for a moment's reprieve. He'd split from the group on the pretense of securing a table for lunch, escaping Mr DuPont and Angelica’s excited babbling about the house elf who had come to collect their clubs. 

Angelica had never seen a house elf before, and was speaking to it in a high pitched voice as though to a cat. The house elf looked on through startled, globe-like eyes, as it attempted to wheel their trollies off the green, and Harry tried sheepishly to distract the DuPonts long enough for the elf to make an exit. Draco had quickly mumbled something about a lunch booking and made a beeline for a drink. 

The clubhouse bar was in a green-walled room that smelled faintly of old books and cigar smoke. A massive painting of a foxhunt hung over shelves of glistening, beveled liquor bottles. It was a flat, muggle-style painting, likely to keep the non-magical guests from asking too many questions, so the scene seemed petrified in place; a streak of red dashing through a field of green, large brown and white bodies of horses suspended in midair over fences in pursuit. Draco made eye contact with the panicked looking fox running for its life in the bottom left corner of the frame and couldn’t help but relate. 

“Can I get you anything, sir?” asked a polished looking bartender with slicked back hair and a crisp white shirt. 

“Four for lunch in the Oak Room, please,” said Draco, feeling exhausted at the realisation that the day wasn’t even halfway over yet. “And a firewhiskey neat for me.” 

“What name will the table be under?” asked the bartender, flicking open a book of names on his side of the bar. 

Draco started to say ‘Malfoy,’ but remembered that the name hadn’t been helpful in securing him access to the club, and likely wouldn’t carry much weight here. Besides, after what he’d just learned about his father he could hardly bring himself to say it. 

The bartender looked up at the pause, fixing Draco with a look that felt like he was scrutinising whether or not he belonged in a room as nice as the Oak Room. 

“DuPont,” said Draco at last. The bartender checked the book and nodded curtly before pouring Draco a glass of firewhiskey and turning on his heel to exit through a curtained door at the back of the bar, leading to the dining rooms. 

Draco took a deep sip of the whiskey, and though it warmed him instantly, he felt cold at the thought of his uprooted plans. And worse -- to his horror, he found himself wondering how much a glass of whiskey this nice would cost him. He’d already thrown ten galleons away on a silly bet with Potter earlier in the day, and the outing had not been a cheap one to begin with. 

On top of that, he was now no longer sure that the payoff would be a secured match with Angelica, as both DuPonts’ estimation of him was currently opaque. Though if they did offer him the match, he was starting to question whether it was still what he wanted. Edgar was a clear megalomaniac, happy to peddle snake oil to muggles to build his empire and not care about its effects on them. On the other hand, if Angelica accepted his proposal, how could he afford to refuse? He stood at the massive mahogany bar and rested on his elbows, head hung. 

A radio crackled behind the bar and Draco looked up slightly. 

“... In what promises to be an exciting game today between the Montrose Magpies and the Kenmare Kestrels,” said the voice of an announcer. 

Here’s one thing that could surely lift his spirits - Quidditch. He checked his pockets for his betting ledger, pulling out the small black notebook and travel quill. He flicked through to the last page with writing, which held all his most recent bets and calculations. 

He’d placed a rather sizable bet on Puddlemere United against the Chudley Cannons earlier in the day, and as he laid down the notebook on the bar, he could see the updated scores from the game scribbling themselves into the blanks of his notes. He’d enchanted the ledger (rather ingeniously if he said so himself), to scan the radio waves for score announcements, and update automatically.

He’d picked up sports betting as a hobby years back, but recently it had become an increasingly crucial source of income. He’d devised his own set of complex calculations and spells, and as a rule he based all of his bets on logic and reasoning over personal team affiliation. Though he hated to support Puddlemere, the line on the game had been too good to pass up and he’d put down a sizable pot. True to his calculations, Puddlemere had come out ahead of the spread, doubling his returns. 

He scribbled a small written equation into the page to tabulate his winnings for the day, and the book scribbled back the payout based on his bet and the score. It wasn’t much, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the price of the whiskey. He took another sip and began to write out equations for the Magpies/Kestrels game. As the player statistics scribbled themselves into the table he drew, an ornately engraved wooden door to the left of the bar opened up and a handful of men emerged in a faint cloud of cigar smoke. 

“And I said, ‘you try and tell a goblin he doesn’t need to count it!’” said a jarringly brash voice, followed by a chorus of snide laughter from the rest of the group. 

“You’re mental!” said another voice.

“You won’t be saying that when I get the promotion,” retorted the first, followed by another wave of laughter.

There was something irritatingly familiar about the braggart's voice, and Draco looked up and immediately recognised the speaker as Cormac McLaggen. Damn, the last thing this day needed was another obnoxious Gryffindor poking his head in. He slowly put a hand up to his forehead as though he was leaning on it, and kept his eyes on the figures scratching themselves into his notes. 

“But seriously boys, the way to the top at Gringotts is you’ve got to-- Hang on,” said McLaggen as the group rounded the corner of the bar. “Can that be who I think it is?”

Draco could feel the attention of the group turn in his direction, but kept his gaze steady, jotting down a few notes in his margins. He could probably still get a bet in before the game started if McLaggen just kept walking, but that was looking less likely as a few murmurs kicked up from the group. 

A tall form came to rest on the bar at Draco’s elbow, a wispy cloud of cigar smoke following him. “I’ll be damned, it is you. What the hell is Draco Malfoy doing in a place like this?” mused McLaggen. 

Draco moved his hand away from his temple and gave McLaggen a bored look. McLaggen looked startlingly similar to how he had at school; athletic build, smug expression--he was even still cutting his hair the same way. Though today he was looking particularly smug, wearing a burgundy jumper and checked pants, holding a flat cap under one arm and a cigar in one hand. He looked Draco up and down like he was sizing him up and glanced back at his friends with a smirk.

“Golfing, it would appear,” Draco replied in a steady voice. “McLaggen, is it?” 

McLaggen cracked a wide grin and leaned back against the bar.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Though I’d’ve forgiven you for not remembering. Given it’s been about a decade since anyone’s laid eyes on you, I would have thought you’d forgotten what it’s like to interact with other humans. Figured you were holed up somewhere sacrificing rats or something to get the Dark Lord back to power, eh?” 

“And yet, here I am,” said Draco turning to face him, and pasting on a placating smile. “What is it you want, McLaggen?”

McLaggen scoffed. “Just trying to say hi to an old acquaintance,” he said as he put the end of the cigar in his mouth and took a puff. “Oi, you lads ever met the infamous Draco Malfoy?” he called over his shoulder to his friends, signaling them to come closer before fixing Draco with a devilish smile. “How’s the family these days, Malfoy? How’s your dad?” 

“About the same,” said Draco stoically. “And yours? His coattails feeling heavy with you riding on them?” 

“Oh ho ho, he’s got jokes!” said McLaggen, pretending to be startled by the jab. “Nah, my dad’s coattails are fine. Matter of fact, they’re sitting on a chair pretty high up in the Ministry as we speak. Me, I’m working in banking these days. Something to keep us busy between rounds of golf, hey boys?” 

“Thrilling,” said Draco.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a golfer, though,” McLaggen carried on with a sarcastic tone. “Thought you were above anything with non-magical origins. Or has your tune changed now that you’re at the bottom of the totem pole?”

“I tend to like anything I can win at,” drawled Draco. “I’m sure you can understand. That’s why you gave up Quidditch I’d imagine.” 

McLaggen’s face fell. It felt good to lord something over someone again. For a minute out on the green he was worried he’d lost his touch, but Cormac was an easy target. If he could just piss him off enough to make him walk away, he could go back to enjoying his whiskey for a few more moments of peace before the DuPonts came in. 

“Huh, funny.” McLaggen pushed past the slight, determined to demonstrate that he was the alpha in front of his friends. “Tell me, what _are_ you doing these days besides playing muggle sports and-” he glanced down into Draco’s notebook, “-gambling? You ever get a job? Always thought you would have made a good potions professor for some reason. Seems like a good career path for brooding loners and traitors.” 

That was too far, he couldn’t have the DuPonts walking in and hearing this kind of slander. Draco snapped his notebook shut and turned to face McLaggen and his cronies with a disarming smile. 

“Luckily for me, I’ve never had to consider it as I’ve never needed to ‘work’ for money. In fact, I’m here today entertaining my fiancée and her father, you may have heard of him, Edgar DuPont,” Cormac blinked in recognition at the name. “But I find that I’m rather enjoying golf, so we’re likely to cross paths again and I’d be happy to hear all about your little ‘job’ counting other people's money.”

Cormac’s little crew had fallen unrestfully quiet as they waited for him to retort. 

“Or we could simply reminisce,” Draco continued. “I’ve always wondered how it was that you ended up in the dungeons after the Battle of Hogwarts. They say you were found holed up in the potions storeroom holding on to a full bottle of dreamless sleep and crying your eyes out. Maybe you could regale us all with your version of the battle and then your little friends can decide who among us is the traitor.” 

Cormac looked flabbergasted, and he was moving his mouth as if looking for something with which to respond. Draco took a last sip of his whiskey and placed the glass back on the bar. 

“Wish I could stay and chat, but my fiancée is waiting for me. Have a great game, lads.” 

With a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips he turned to walk away from the group and caught sight of a spectacled figure entering the room a few paces behind him. Damn, how long had Harry been listening? He scowled immediately. 

“And how does your fiancée feel about you snogging other men?” called a quavering McLaggen from behind him. Draco stopped dead in his tracks. “Only I heard you were completely bent, Malfoy.” 

“What’s going on here?” asked Harry, who looked slightly concerned. 

“Jeez, this _is_ a reunion!” said Cormac, gaining momentum. “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in the same room? Someone call the Prophet.” 

Harry walked into the room, stopping in line with Draco. “McLaggen,” he said acknowledging the other wizard, eyes going back and forth between him and Draco. “What’s this all about?” 

“Wait a minute -- you two aren’t here together are you?” asked McLaggen with a laugh. Draco turned around to face the group, now shoulder to shoulder with Harry. “Merlin’s beard, you are! Now there’s a story for you. Malfoy I knew, but Potter! Man, this is rich,” he said collapsing into laughter. His buddies seemed to lighten up at this and laugh along. 

Draco’s mind was racing. Of all the days for his best kept secret to come to light. How could Cormac have known? Must have been one of his Gringotts flings. But to say it in front of Harry no less. He considered his options to respond, but he’d already played his best card against Cormac and anything less than that would look like grasping at straws at this point. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re getting at,” said Harry before Draco could think of anything, “But that’s pretty poor form after what I did for you the last time we met, or don’t you remember?”

McLaggen ceased his laughing and his cronies fell silent. “Come on Harry, I thought we had a deal about that,” he offered sheepishly. 

“Yeah, the deal is I keep your drug problem under wraps and you stay out of my way,” said Harry in an authoritative tone. “I reckon that still holds, so why don’t you and your mates piss off before I change my mind.” 

“You’re not even on the force anymore,” said McLaggen, not realising that ash was falling off the cigar onto his jumper.

“I’m still wrapping up all my paperwork. I’d be happy to put your name back on the pile if you want me to.” 

Cormac scoffed but said nothing, his gaze darting between Harry and Draco, seeming to consider whether another jab in front of his cronies was worth the risk of overstepping the line with Potter. Meanwhile, to Draco’s surprise, Potter appeared largely unphased by the exchange. In his memories of Potter in heated moments, he was always petulant and rash, but this Potter, the one who had spent the last five years locking up wizards far more dangerous than Cormac McLaggen, was not shaken. 

Cormac threw a final dirty look at Draco before he pushed himself off the bar and headed for the far door. “Come on boys, we’ll let the couple have the room to themselves. See you around, Potter.” 

As the door closed behind the group, Harry brushed past Draco towards the bar. “Well now I could definitely use a drink,” he said. “You want one?”

“Yes,” said Draco on autopilot. He was quickly trying to calculate the tradeoffs between denying McLaggen’s allegations, which would mean stopping to his level by acknowledging them, or saying nothing altogether, thereby potentially minimising the perceived impact. Either way, he was bracing for an onslaught of taunts from Potter to begin any moment. 

“McLaggen’s a dick,” said Harry reaching over the unattended bar to grab two glasses and start pouring them a couple beers from the tap. “I caught him a few years ago in a powdered pepper-up ring. These bankers take it to stay up all night and who knows what else.” 

Draco silently strode up to the bar next to him and accepted the foaming glass Harry handed over. 

“Lucky for him I had bigger fish to fry,” said Harry, turning to face him. “Cheers.”

Harry sipped on his beer, regarding Draco over the rim of his glass. His bright eyes were looking searchingly across Draco’s face, which he had trained into a flat expression. He was suddenly struck with the thought that Potter would be rather terrifying in an interrogation. There was clearly more clockwork behind those stupid round frames than he was letting on. 

“Angelica and her dad are just taking a tour of the grounds,” continued Harry lightly. “After they let that poor house elf out of their clutches they were dying to see what else was in this old place. I walked them over to some conservatory or other and let them loose. So that probably gives us anywhere up to an hour till they’re ready for lunch. Maybe two if Angelica spots another house elf.”

Draco looked up from his beer and saw that Harry was grinning at him, maybe waiting for Draco to laugh at his joke, or come back with some classic witty response. Harry took another sip of beer and wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper. 

“Though I would have expected she’d seen plenty of house elves at the Manor,” continued Harry. 

He was a shrewd bugger, Draco had to give him that. In truth, the family had had to cut their house elf staff significantly in the years after the war when the cost became unmanageable. Now the few elves left mostly worked in the kitchen, unlikely to wander across Angelica’s path. 

“I’d ask what’s going on if I thought you’d tell me,” said Harry with a sigh. 

“I’d ask why you think you can reach over the bar and take whatever you want if I didn’t already know it was because you’re entitled arse,” snapped Draco. 

Harry laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Malfoy -- so predictable,” he said as he took another swig of beer. 

“Alright, I give,” said Draco. And for once, he threw his planning to the wind. He was genuinely curious about what Potter’s ends were in all this. Especially if he was going to stick his neck out against McLaggen for him like that. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, if you’ll do the same.”

Harry straightened up at this, and placed his beer back down on the bar, an enchanted coaster scuttling it’s way under the glass as it landed with a dull thunk. “Alright, what did Edgar say to you on that last hole?”

“He said he used to have business dealings with my father that went sideways,” said Draco, matter-of-factly. 

“What kind of business dealings?”

“The kind that involves peddling junk to muggles for cash.” 

“Muggles? That doesn’t sound like your dad. What sort of junk?”

Draco regarded Harry for a moment, feeling a surge of annoyance at his prying, but he’d opened this door so he might as well tell the git what he wanted to know. Harry returned his gaze with a look of genuine curiosity. 

He let out a long breath and looked around, casting a quick _muffliato_ before continuing, “I don’t know, Potter. Diluted pain suppressants, pills meant to cure things but do nothing, placebos, whatever they can convince muggles will work. According to DuPont, my father was meant to help him launch his pharmaceutical company in the UK, but he panicked during Voldemort's second rise to power and backed out on the deal. Edgar never forgave him for it, only he feels sorry for him now so he’s willing to forgive me instead and make amends between the families.” At that he took a massive swing from his beer. It somehow felt better to say it out loud. 

“Lucius building a company meant to heal muggles? Sounds far fetched, but what’s the harm in that?” 

“The other half of the business the DuPonts run is an alchemy lab,” continued Draco in a more serious tone. “They brew some of the most advanced healing potions in the world, but they’re bankrolled by selling dittanys to muggles. And the man’s a billionaire -- it’s outrageous. It goes against the intention of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. We heal our kind and they heal theirs. It doesn’t do to try and squeeze money out of a group that hardly knows better than to rip out teeth by the root when they become rotten.”

“Are you saying you’re concerned that DuPont is taking advantage of muggles?” asked Harry, who had the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell me you have a heart after all?”

“Please,” said Draco, coming to his senses and hardening his expression again. “I hardly care for the muggles. I’m more interested in this wayward business deal that he alleges my father was part of. I get the sense he hasn’t had his pound of flesh yet, even though he knows my father has more than paid for his sins.”

“Do you think it could be true? Your father's involvement?” asked Harry, studying him again, his round glasses catching the light from the clubhouse’s large arched windows. 

Draco shrugged and shook his head. “What does it matter? Edgar certainly believes it to be true, which means I have to treat it as such until I can look into it.”

DuPont knew too much for there to be no personal connection to his father, but he wasn’t so sure about the deal. Perhaps there was something else DuPont was angling for. 

“Hmm, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. I can't say I knew your father well, but from his reputation it seems like he would have had his hand in a fair few shady business dealings.” Draco glared at Harry, though he couldn’t deny the claim. Harry caught the glare but held his gaze. “You know what I mean,” he covered.

“I’m quite aware my father doesn’t have the cleanest record,” said Draco, brushing past the slight. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of our family wealth was tied up in this sordid scheme. The more concerning thing is that this is the first I’m hearing about it.”

“How do you mean?” asked Harry. 

“Do you really need me to spell it out?” asked Draco, putting a hand to his forehead in exasperation. “And here I was thinking you were some award winning investigator.” 

Harry rolled his eyes but let him continue. 

“Right, well I am the only child and the heir apparent to my family’s name, which means I’ve been trained how to manage my future inheritance practically from birth,” said Draco, shifting slightly closer to Harry so he could keep his eye on the door in case the DuPonts came barging through at any moment. “The most critical asset is the family’s succession plan, our lineage. Hence why it’s crucial to find a suitable match -- the family name is only valuable as long as there’s someone next in line to take up the mantle. 

“The second most important asset is our wealth, in the form of property, vault contents, and investments. It’s the thing that ensures the family will always return to an appropriate social status. I won’t bore you with the details, but I am extremely well versed in our family’s financial affairs. I know all of our holdings, what they return, and how they’re generated. I was even made to study our archival records to identify areas of mis-management.”

“It’s a wonder you turned out so well adjusted,” said Harry over a sip of beer. 

“The point being,” continued Draco, eyes narrowed, “My father was a meticulous man, he kept records down to the donations he made to Fudge’s re-election campaign, and I have never, in any record, seen evidence of a business dealing with DuPont Pharmaceuticals. Much less something of the size that was alluded to, which would have required a joint sign off from my mother. So either DuPont has revealed one of my father’s most well guarded secrets or-”

“Or he’s lying to get leverage on you,” finished Harry, who was nodding along with rapt attention. “Can you verify somehow that the deal took place?” 

Draco scoffed, “Of course I can verify it. For one thing, it would obviously have to be lodged with the International Trade Bureau of the ministry, which I have direct access to. Though it’s via a back channel of my own design. “ He raised an eyebrow in Harry’s direction. 

“Don’t even tell me how, I’m sure I don’t want to hear it,” said Harry, shaking his head but smiling appreciatively. It seemed as though Auror Potter still had a bit of a rule breaking streak in him. 

“Otherwise it would be documented under heavy concealment somewhere in the manor, which mother would have to know something about. Though in the event there is no paper trail, I may have to resort to legilimency. Angelica might know more than what her father is revealing.” 

“Between the two of them, I’d bet she’s the better occlumens. I reckon you go for Edgar,” said Harry, a glint of excitement in his eye.

“One week of the force and you’re already advocating for unsanctioned legilimency?” asked Draco with genuine amusement. 

Harry grinned. “No worse than whatever back channels you have into the ministry records, I’m sure. Of course my official word on the matter is to tread carefully.”

“Right, I’ll be sure to take cautionary advice from the man who rode a dragon out of Gringotts,” drawled Draco. 

“Well if you’re planning a bank robbery that’s a different story,” said Harry with a chuckle.

Draco suddenly realised how closely he was standing to Harry, their heads together as though they were hatching a plan. Moreover, he found that he was smiling to himself. He quickly backtracked over how much he’d revealed, thoughts he hadn’t even had time to form for himself following DuPont’s revelation on the green. He took a small step back, slowly standing to his full height and rearranging his features into a neutral expression. Harry noticed the shift and his smile faded. 

“What do you care about all this anyway?” Draco asked, returning to a measured tone.

“I don’t know, just following a hunch I guess,” Harry said, looking distractedly out at the green. “Something feels off with this family.” 

“Why? What’s he said to you?”

“Nothing really, just mostly wanted to know about my time on the force. I told him a few old war stories.” 

“Why did you leave the force? Seems like you’re itching to have a case on your hands again.” He’d given Potter the answers he’d been looking for; now he’d see if he was willing to play ball. Draco had been turning this particular question over his mind ever since the gala and Blaise’s insight into the rumoured feud with Sterling. 

“I was pushed out for bad behaviour,” Harry replied point blank, glancing down into his beer glass.

“Great to see there’s reciprocity in this whole ‘I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine’ game we’re playing at,” sneered Draco. He should have known Potter wasn’t going to meet him halfway.

“It’s the truth,” said Harry resignedly. “I got caught poking around where I shouldn’t have been. It started out just like a regular case, only the criminal wasn’t some dark wizard, it was far more innocuous than that. But as soon as I started peeling the layers back, it was clear that someone in power had done a considerable amount of work to keep it buried. At least with organised crime it’s easy to spot the web. What I’ve found after years on the force is the only thing more dangerous than the people who break the rules are the ones who live above them.” 

“How cryptic,” said Draco. “Something’s off in the ministry perhaps? Or could it be even closer to home -- something in the Auror department?” 

“Look, I honestly would tell you more than that if I could. Truth be told, I’ve been dying to get to the bottom of it. But it’s an ongoing investigation,” said Harry, looking conflicted. “And everyone that I’ve dragged into it with me has gotten a target painted on their back because of it. Trust me, I’m sparing you the headache.”

“Always the hero,” said Draco, resignedly. “Fine, have it your way.”

Harry shifted, but returned Draco’s steady gaze. “What are your plans with Angelica?” 

“To marry her obviously,” scoffed Draco, taking another drink. “You already scolded me for that, remember?”

“Yeah, but I mean why her? Surely there’s someone out there more... similar to you?” said Harry, seemingly searching for the words. 

“That seems like a thinly veiled insult, but I’ll let it slide in the spirit of honesty,” said Draco, cracking a reluctant smile at Potter’s gall. He briefly weighed how much he’d tell Harry about this one, but decided to put it all on the table. Besides, it was nothing Potter hadn’t already guessed by now, he was sure. 

“As I said, lineage is a top priority. I’m marrying Angelica for her money and her connections and what it will do for the family name. In return, she’ll get a title, the manor, the remainder of the wealth and connections left to our name. It’s just a partnership, she knows what it is as well as I do.”

“And you’re still up for that? After learning what you have about the family business and where that money comes from?”

Draco took another drink, and realised his glass was nearly empty. “I don’t have much choice in the matter, I’m afraid. Unlike some people, I can’t just follow any whim I choose. Why?” he said, eyes narrowing in Harry's direction. “You’re not really after her for yourself, are you?” 

“Merlin, no,” said Harry with a chuckle, “I’ll steer far clear of that one, thanks.”

“Then tell me really, Potter. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Harry shrugged and gazed thoughtfully at the painting of the fox chase hanging over the bar. “Just here to see you I suppose.”

“See, that would make sense if you were keeping tabs on me for some poorly informed auror case or other, but as you’re no longer on the force I can’t really seem to make heads or tails of it,” said Draco finally showing the rest of his hand. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh, still looking away from Draco. “It’s stupid, really. It’s just, seeing you the other day reminded me of an easier time. I don’t see too many familiar faces these days, and the ones that have become familiar to me over the last few years have turned out to be the worst sort.” He looked weary at this. His dark brows coming together in an expression of working through a puzzle. 

“Surely you still see Weasley and Granger,” prompted Draco. “I can’t imagine them letting you out of their weird little relationship, even if you are the third wheel.” 

“Hermione and Ron split,” replied Harry. “Or at least they were split last time I saw them. That was a few months back now.”

“You’re joking. But you’re their claim to fame, surely.” 

Harry shot a warning look in Draco’s direction before taking another long drink of his beer. 

“Has this got something to do with Angelica's reading? The betrayal?” He could see a dark cast to Harry’s eyes at these words. 

“Yeah. It’s got something to do with that,” he said coldly. Draco waited to see if he'd say any more, but they just there for a few moments in silence. 

“Well, let me make it crystal clear to you that I have no intention of fostering a friendship here. It would be the death of my reputation,” Draco said, half joking. 

Harry snorted and finished his beer, reaching around the bar for another one. “Maybe I’ll just give McLaggen a call. He seems loads less hostile than you, though a bit duller. Where the hell is this bartender?” 

Draco found that he was begrudgingly smiling to himself at their familiar banter. Yet he felt a sting in his chest at the words. Speaking like this to Harry had been the first time he’d been able to open up to anyone in years. Even around Pansy he had his guard up, knowing that Slytherins were capable of going in for the kill at the first sign of blood. But Harry’s stupidly disarming personality was a welcome respite from his regular group of conniving acquaintances. 

However the mention of McLaggen reminded Draco of his earlier revelation, and even though he and Potter were practically holding hands around the campfire at this point, that was one truth he was not ready to admit. 

“Listen, about McLaggen,” he said as Harry was refilling his beer. 

“What? Oh, forget about it. He’ll say anything for the attention,” said Harry offhand, returning to his spot to rest on his elbows at the bar. “What have you got here?” 

Draco shoved down his feelings about the earlier conversation and followed Harry’s line of sight to his betting ledger which was still out on the bar. “Quidditch betting. Made a bit on the Puddlemere/Cannons game earlier.” 

“What! How could you bet against the Cannons?” said Harry, aghast. “I could never go against my team, that’d be like cheating.” 

“Well you would be a terrible gambler,” said Draco with a smile, opening the book to the Magpies/Kestrels game details he was conjuring earlier. “Look, see how the line has moved on this one? Normally I’d go for the Magpies given their recent stats, but it’s too close to make a good margin now, so I’ll leave it.” 

“Where’s the loyalty!” chided Harry playfully, before looking over Draco’s shoulder at the numbers erasing themselves and writing back in as the start of the game approached. “What’s this then? Some kind of odds calculator?” 

“Something like that,” said Draco offhand. “It’s spelled to pull the scores for me. I made it as a hobby. Turns out Quidditch can be exceedingly predictable if you know who’s on each side.”

“Hmm,” said Harry thoughtfully, before fixing Draco with a look like a challenge was coming. “Alright, since you know both sides of our party so well, what about putting some odds on our game today.”

“I already lost ten galleons to you, what more do you want,” drawled Draco, but he was interested to see what Harry would put on the table. 

“Let’s go all or nothing then. If you win, you can keep your galleons and on top of that, Angelica has been asking me to take you two out when you come up to London next weekend,” said Harry, with a sparkle in his eye. His face had a slightly rosy cast to it from the full pint he’d just downed. 

“Did she now,” said Draco resignedly. 

“So how about if you win, I’ll host you two next Saturday at Aparecium.” 

This was interesting, Aparecium was a spot he knew well, though he’d never been there. It was a members only nightclub with an exclusive guest list. So exclusive that he had not been able to find his way onto the list, though somehow he assumed Potter already knew that or he wouldn’t be offering. 

“The three of us. Pansy will be coming as well,” he said. Two birds with one stone if he could pay his debts to Pansy; he knew she’d be dying to go and they could hand off keeping Angelica busy between them. 

“Sure,” said Harry with a nod. 

“And if you win?”

“If I win, I need you to join a panel with me. I’m meant to go speak at the Gryffindor Scholarship Awards next week.” 

“No,” said Draco, taking a big swig of his new beer. 

“Hear me out!” said Harry with a laugh, “The topic is Quidditch All Stars, and they asked me and Wood to come speak along with a few older guys, but Wood pulled out as he’s on a work trip overseas. I was thinking it’d be perfect to have you there and we can speak about the old house rivalries and how it brings teams closer together. What do you think?”

“Do I have to wear red?” asked Draco flatly.

“You don’t,” said Harry with a smile. “It’ll just be a couple hours, we’ll tell some of the old stories, meet the kids. It’ll be great. You can even make fun of me for the time I caught the snitch in my mouth if you want,” 

“No wonder you keep feeding me drinks, you’re trying to knock me off my golf game,” said Draco, taking another drink. “You’re more devious than you look, Potter.” 

“You’ll do it then?” asked Harry, extending his hand for a shake. 

Draco rolled his eyes. It sounded like there’d be no talking Angelica out of the weekend in London, and the prospect of spending one of Angelica’s last nights at Aparecium was a solid one. Plus, if they were drunk he’d have an easier time with an excuse to not spend the night together. Then again, he’d rather drop dead than spend a moment reliving Quidditch matches in front of a room full of Gryffindors. 

He quickly stacked up the trade off; even though he’d be entering the back nine slightly behind on score, his game had been gradually improving throughout the day, while Harry’s last two holes had been shaky. The added motivation to not wind up on a Gryffindor panel with Potter could be just enough to push him over the edge into a win. The reward was worth the risk. 

“Alright, deal,” said Draco, accepting Harry’s firm handshake.

“Excellent,” said Harry, “Now what does your little book say about the odds that I get to roll you out in front of a few hundred Gryffindors? Oh, did I mention there will be graduates there?” 

Draco scowled, “You did not mention th--”

“Do I hear betting going on in here?” boomed a loud American voice as Mr DuPont and Angelica walked into the room, both beaming. Angelica dashed over to Draco and kissed him on cheek, and the missing bartender miraculously reappeared through the curtained door as the two approached the bar. Draco realised their _muffliato_ must have long since faded.

“Draco, we just had the most wonderful walk around the grounds, you won’t even believe all the amazing stained glass in this place, is positively breathtaking. Ooh what are you guys betting on?” asked Angelica looking over at the little notebook. 

“Malfoy was just showing me how he calculates his Quidditch bets. It’s quite fascinating, actually,” said Harry with a hint of admiration. 

“Let’s see now,” said DuPont, picking up the small book in his meaty hand and studying it. “You made this?” he asked, looking with surprise at Draco. 

“Yes, I’ve made something of a hobby on Quidditch betting. Only when it’s quite predictable. I hardly ever lose.” 

“Son, you’ve got a mind for statistics if I ever saw one,” said Mr DuPont with reverence. 

“Let me see,” said Angelica, peaking at the small book. “That’s easy, the Green ones will win”

“But see dear, the Magpies are favoured,” said Draco sweetly, pointing with his quill at the stats. 

“I just have a feeling,” she said with a shrug, and Harry caught his eye over her shoulder and raised his eyebrows slightly. He knew exactly what Harry was thinking - that he was signing up for a long lifetime of being subjected to Angelica’s semi-clairvoyant ways. 

“Mr DuPont, your table is ready,” said the bartender with the slicked back hair as he ushered the group towards the carved wooden door at the side of the bar. 

“Thanks, buddy,” said Mr DuPont. “Now Draco, tell me more about this Quidditch betting.” 

***

Back on the course, Draco was initially regretting all the drinks over lunch, but the wind had died down and he was playing stronger than he had on the front nine. He and Harry were neck and neck for the first few holes, and the DuPonts picked up on their competitive ribbing, each cracking jokes at the expense of the other team. It was, dare he admit it… fun. 

By the time he was next alone with Mr DuPont as they walked down the fairway after their first shot on the 13th hole, he was in incredibly good spirits and more at ease than he had been in ages. Somehow, the revelations of the morning had lifted a weight off his shoulders, and he’d put his plans on the backburner, at least till he could get around to reconfiguring them. 

Even the spat with McLaggen seemed like a funny memory. He found himself staring at Harry across the grass, who looked up and smiled in his direction, the wind ruffling his hair lightly as the sound of Angelica babbling carried over the field. 

“Tell me something, Draco,” said Mr DuPont at his side. “With a brain like yours, what are your career aspirations?” 

“Well, I haven't really given it much serious consideration if I’m honest, sir,” he said off the cuff. The lordship of the Malfoy name was considered as much a job as any in some circles, and honesty had been working for him today so far. “I was thinking at some point I might try to hold a political title, like my father did. Perhaps lead some sort of charitable work.”

“First of all, call me Eddie,” said DuPont in tones of mock seriousness. “And second of all, why throw yourself away on something like politics? That’s for people who love the sound of their own voice and not much else.” 

“Can’t disagree with you there,” said Draco, thinking of the buffoonery of the Ministry. 

“Take Harry for example,” said DuPont, gesturing across the fairway where Harry was lining up his next shot. “Strong moral compass, that one, and quick as they come to boot. He’s putting his mind to work solving cases, putting away bad guys. Work is good for the soul.” Harry chipped his ball onto the green and Angelica twirled around in excitement. 

“I never really thought about it. Certainly not about becoming an auror,” said Draco, considering the possibilities. 

“Ha! No, not an Auror. Too gritty,” said Mr DuPont looking through his clubs to select one. “But what about something in business. You’ve clearly got a mind for it, and you’re smart with numbers -- I can see that.”

“Yes well, perhaps something with my father’s investments. I’ve been managing them passively for some time, but--”

“Have you never thought of leading a big company? Think about it. Building something from the ground up. Leading a team, setting the direction, making decisions with the success of the venture in mind. You’ve got to be a bit fearless, but also inherently logical--you’d be a natural.”

Draco considered for a moment; there was something appealing about it. He was certainly happiest when he was being industrious, though up to this point it had always been with his own ends in mind. 

“Well it’s something to consider at any rate,” said Draco passively, walking towards his trolley. 

Mr DuPont stuck out his club in front of Draco to stop him walking. “Here’s the deal, sport,” said Mr DuPont, the air around him suddenly going icy. “Now I can tell you’re eager to forge these ties with my family, but know this -- My daughter is not going to marry some layabout. If you want to get a seat at the table next to us, you’re going to need a position that can provide. And the good news is, I’m about to offer you one.” 

Draco could feel the hairs on the back of his next stand up as Mr DuPont closed the space between them to lower his voice. There was something dangerous to the glint in his eye, and Draco suddenly felt very much like the fox in the painting over the bar. 

“You’re offering me a job?”

“Not just a job, consider it a peace offering. As well as my blessing on the match,”

“That’s a lot of things rolled into one,” said Draco in a weak attempt at levity. DuPont did not bite. 

“See, I got to thinking after our chat earlier. Your father really stitched me up back in the day, and I vowed never to have dealings with a Malfoy again. But then I met you, and you’re a different sort of guy. I think you have the guts to succeed where your father failed.”

“How do you mean?” Draco had a feeling he knew exactly what he meant. 

“I mean, I want you to pick up Lucius’s end of the deal. I’m willing to reinstate our joint venture arrangement, and name you acting director of DuPont Pharmaceuticals UK. In return, you’d be responsible for the launch and day to day management of the company. We’d wipe the slate clean of any debts of the past, and I’d be proud to welcome you into the family as a son.” 

Draco scrambled to get his thoughts in order. What daft decision had let him drop his plans so carelessly? He was rapidly running through the cost-benefit analysis in his head as DuPont grew impatient. 

“Listen, I thought you’d be jumping at the chance,” said DuPont taking a step away and scowling. “This sort of opportunity doesn’t come knocking every day you know.” 

“No, I’m thrilled -- really,” said Draco in a rush. “It’s more than I could have asked for. It’s just--” _It’s just that I think your business dealings are immoral_ , thought Draco. He was reminded of the dark dealings that went on in his father’s circle of Death Eaters when he was young and what it meant for him to get caught on the wrong side of those deals. He had the familiar sense that he was being cornered into something dangerous. “--that there are so many considerations,” he continued finally. “I believe I could do it, but I imagine there’d be a steep learning curve. And travel? Time spent overseas? It’s just a lot to take in.” 

Mr DuPonts face suddenly brightened into his signature shiny-cheeked smile, which now suddenly seemed like an odd sort of mask. 

“We can figure out the details later. The important part is the gentleman’s agreement. I believe you can do it too, and in our company you’ll have all the support that you need to be successful. So, have we got a deal?”

Draco thought momentarily about declining, but the image of his mother flashed to his mind. Her welfare, the house, their reputation. Hadn’t securing the marriage been his goal all along? Wasn’t he coming out of this with even more than he bargained for? He accepted the large hand that was held out to him and shook. 

“It’s a deal, Eddie,” he said, returning the mask-like smile. 

“Welcome to the family, son” said Mr DuPont beaming. Over his shoulder, out on the fairway, Harry looked concerned. 

The game was close for the remaining few holes, and the long day was starting to sink in on everyone. By hole 16, Harry and Angelica were still in the lead, but on 17 Harry fluffed his second shot. It bounced into the rough on the far side and was caught in the outstretched arms of a gnome, who took off through the tall wind-whipped grass with the ball held aloft over its stubby head. Given Harry had to take a drop from the point of the robbery, Draco and Edgar easily pulled ahead. Harry looked apologetically at Angelica who chattered encouragingly. 

On the final hole, Harry went into a sand trap off the tee and that was it. Harry shrugged good naturedly as he shook Mr DuPont’s hand after the game, receiving a barrage of sagely golf advice for “next time.” 

As they headed back to the clubhouse for their dinner, Harry made his excuses to leave but true to form, invited Angelica and Draco up to London the following weekend. Mr DuPont headed in after him to make a business call and a few houselves scurried out of the clubhouse to collect the trolleys, one dodging to avoid Angelica and knocking a bag of clubs over. Panicked, the elves set about picking up the clubs and muttering apologies, and in the low light with the elves scurrying around, Draco saw a familiar scene. 

Near him, an elf carried two clubs in his arms, bending down low to reach for a third one. Behind him, his counterparts were picking up a fallen club each. Draco was struck with the image of the second card in his tarot spread from days ago, the inverted Five of Swords -- putting old grudges to rest. Could it possibly be there was some true predictive power in the cards? Was it merely coincidence that he’d made amends with two strong forces in his life over the span of the last few hours? 

As he came to his senses he realised that Angelica was staring at him sweetly. 

“Yes, darling?” he said as she approached. 

“Thanks for an incredible day” she said blinking up at him and twining her arms around his neck. “Daddy said he had simply the best time,” 

“Well that’s a relief. It was no mean feat,” he said, truthfully.

“You thinking any more about your reading?” she asked. 

“A bit actually, why?” 

“Just that daddy told me he offered you a job,” she said with a little squeal of delight. “And we knew it, didn’t we? That something like this would cross your path? We knew the Knight of Wands was in your future.”

“That we did,” he said. He couldn’t make sense of it, but he was also exhausted so he shelved it for the time being. For now, he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep and tomorrow he’d consult his mother about DuPont’s revelations and business offer. 

And at the back of his mind, he was also grateful for the win, and the opportunity to see Harry again. That was odd. Perhaps it was the length of the day that was clouding his judgement. Whatever, it’d be another problem to figure out tomorrow.

As they entered the clubhouse, a radio crackled nearby and an announcer was rattling off the scores of the day’s quidditch games. Angelica was thrilled to hear that the underdog Kestrels, the “Green team,” had won their match. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubious business deals, trouble at the ministry, and secrets coming to light -- Things are starting to get serious around here. 
> 
> If anyone is still wondering whether Harry and Draco will end up together after all of this, I will say that I have a kiss planned in the not too distant future. This slow burn has turned out to be an exceedingly slow burn, but it’ll all be worth it if these boys can come together to solve one or two of these mysteries. Though if Draco’s going to let him in, he’s going to need a lot more transparency from Harry than he’s getting so far. 
> 
> More importantly; If you’ve noticed a marked improvement in my writing since the last chapter, it’s all thanks to my incredible new beta, Honeybeet! Having written the first few chapters on my own, I’ve quickly realised how much better life is having someone brilliant driving clarity around character motivation and weighing in on my half baked ideas. Honeybeet, thanks heaps for all your help on this :)
> 
> For the fastidious reader:  
> \- The Magpies (Scotland), Kestrels (Ireland), Cannons (England), and Puddlemere (England) are four of the 13 teams in the British & Irish Quidditch league  
> \- The name of the Wizarding nightclub, Aparecium, is a revealing charm. It seemed like an appropriate name for an exclusive venue, implying some sort of password to be able to enter.


	6. The Knight of Wands (Part 1)

“Why don’t you come and have a seat?” asked Pansy.

Draco was pacing across the gleaming marble floor of the Langham Hotel foyer, his eyes fixed on the wide glass doors. 

“Where the hell could he be, he’s almost an hour late,” replied Draco in a huff. 

“I know as much as you do, dearest,” said Pansy in a soothing tone. “Now come sit while we wait, you’re frightening the other guests.” 

Draco let out a long breath and stalked over to where Pansy sat on a black scalloped settee, startling a few muggles entering the foyer who scuttled out of his way. She fixed him with an indulgent expression, patting the cushion next to her. She looked impeccable in a scarlet dress that fit her thin form, her pale legs crossed at the knee. Her dark hair was pulled back, showing off the graceful lines of her long neck. He took a seat next to her, leaned his elbow on the arm of the sofa and attempted to look relaxed. 

“Have I told you how dashing you look in this suit?” she asked, in a transparent attempt to placate him. 

The muggle suit in question had been Potter’s direction for the night’s dress code, as Aparecium was located in the heart of muggle London. He’d chosen a slim cut, navy suit which had cost him a weekend’s worth of Quidditch winnings and had damned well better be worth it. Under normal circumstances he would have ignored Potter’s instructions and gone with a nicer set of dress robes, but after the surprising events of the golf weekend, he was finding himself more inclined to go along with Potter’s suggestions. Given the glances that he and Pansy were receiving from the muggles who passed by their spot in the foyer, it had been the right call. 

“You’re not going to distract me that easily,” he replied through his teeth, eyes glued to the door. 

“Oh dear. Once you stop responding to compliments I know I’ve lost you,” she said, leaning over and patting his arm lightly. “Are you going to tell me about this afternoon outing that has thrown you into such an awful mood, or are you just going to keep me guessing?” 

“I told you, I was chasing up that lead of my mother’s,” he said, shortly. 

Since Edgar DuPont’s revelation about the joint venture with his father, Draco had spent the following week diving into research around the alleged partnership. Narcissa had balked at the news at first, but quickly filled in the gaps where she could. 

For starters, she confirmed Abraxas’s involvement in the US trade negotiations of his day, as well as Edgar’s friendship with Lucius before the war. And while she confirmed that there had never been a contractual arrangement between the two families of the sort that Edgar described, she knew of other means by which Lucius may have raised the funds and support for such a venture. It was with a shaking hand she wrote the introductory letter for Draco to meet some of Lucius’s old business associates in London. 

“I’m sure I remember you saying that if I could keep Angelica busy for the afternoon, you’d tell me everything first chance you got,” she said, a serious edge to her voice. “I would have revolted, except she did pick out this adorable dress for me so there’s at least one win for the day.”

“I _will_ tell you about the meeting when there’s time,” said Draco, putting an exasperated hand to his forehead. He’d divulged as much as he could to Pansy following the golf weekend, but after what he’d learned from his afternoon’s meeting, he wondered if he'd already said too much. He needed time to think it over before he told anyone else what Lucius had been up to. Draco was furious with his father. And really, what had he been thinking, going off to Azkaban without telling him and his mother what was waiting out there.

“At least tell me whether it’s tipped your decision one way or another on this alliance with the DuPonts?” 

“It hasn’t changed anything, yet,” said Draco, glancing back to the foyer door. Where was the messy haired git?

“Whatever you say,” said Pansy with a sigh. “It just makes me nervous to see you like this. The last time you were this on edge was about fifth year. You were keeping secrets then too--”

“I’m not on edge,” snapped Draco, turning to face Pansy who looked concerned. 

Her red lips were pressed into a straight line, her fingers twisted together on her lap. “I’m not,” he continued, more calmly, placing a hand over hers “I’m just annoyed.” 

Pansy fixed him with a sisterly look of reproach. “If you say so,” she said, “If I didn’t know better I’d say this has something to do with Potter. Or is he really just settling the score over a golf bet?”

“It’s nothing to do with Potter,” said Draco with a huff of forced laughter. 

“Right,” said Pansy, a knowing smile creeping across her lips. 

In fact, he hadn’t been able to get the bespectacled idiot out of his head for days. He kept mulling over the bizarre conversation they’d had -- the circumstances around his exit from the Auror force, his conspiratorial riffing on Lucius’s business dealings, and then there was something about this foretold betrayal. Further to Draco’s annoyance, he’d had a dream where the Knight of Wands, the third card in Angelica’s spread, had come riding up to him over a golf course and raised his visor only to turn out to be Harry bloody Potter. 

He had more than enough on his plate, with a pending marriage, an upcoming career in a multinational corporation, and his father’s messes to clean up. The last thing he needed was his childhood arch nemesis turned golfing buddy occupying all the spare space in his brain and distracting him from the task at hand. No, he’d firmly decided that this would be the end to the strange rekindling of the acquaintance. It made logical sense to take advantage of Potter’s connections for the night out at Aparecium to settle the deal, and that would be that. With Angelica back in the states from Monday, he wouldn’t have to placate her with any further time spent with Harry. Which would be a relief… wouldn't it?

“You’re one to talk,” said Draco, taking the opportunity to turn the conversation. 

Pansy glanced out over the foyer, absently checking the pins in her updo and attempting to stifle a smile as her cheeks flushed. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked playfully.

“I mean if you had told me you planned on bringing a date to London it would have saved me having to owl Potter last minute to get him on the guest list”

“I’ve already told you, I just thought it’d be a nice gesture seeing as he was so helpful the other weekend” 

“Of course, quid pro quo,” said Draco leaning back on the settee and regarding his friend with a look of amusement. 

“Alright, I’ll make a deal with you, since those are the only terms you seem to understand these days,” said Pansy, her eyes darting back to Draco with a conspiratorial glint.

“I’m listening”

“I won’t speculate on your romantic entanglements for the night if you promise the same.” 

“Nothing to speculate, I’ve gotten a room for myself and my future bride to be,” said Draco with a meaningful look through his smile. He knew they were only joking, but it was the one secret that still had the potential of undoing the match, so it was not to be messed around with. 

“Yes how foolish of me,” said Pansy with an eye roll. “I’m sure that’ll be nothing like the nights I had to spend with you to teach all those prying Slytherin boys a lesson. Those long, hard… games of exploding snap”

“I mean it, Pansy,” he said in a more serious tone. “We’re nearly there, just help me get through tonight and I’ll make sure you’re in the wedding party.”

Pansy paused for a minute, searching his face. “Whatever you want,” she said finally. “At any rate, I’m dying to see what Aparecium is all about. I’ve heard it’s positively opulent. I read in Witch Weekly that the owner had the entire interior imported from a baroque villa in the north of Italy. They say it was smuggled across borders in suitcases with undetectable extension charms.”

“Are we speculating about this Aparecium joint?” boomed a voice from the direction of the hotel bar as Blaise and Angelica walked through the vaulted archway carrying drinks. 

“I heard they only hire staff who are part Veela,” continued Blaise coming around the settee to plop down in a wingback armchair near Pansy, and handing her an old fashioned in a sparkling tumbler. Blaise too wore a muggle-style suit in a light grey, though they’d had to transfigure it for him after there wasn’t anything in the store long enough to fit his towering frame.

“That’s ridiculous, Blaise,” said Pansy with a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Everyone knows you can’t run a business with only veelas. They’re terrible with money.”

“Ooh I can’t wait to see it,” squealed Angelica, coming to sit on the ottoman near Draco and handing him a firewhiskey, leaving her hand to linger on his knee. 

Unlike the girlish dresses Draco had seen her in so far, tonight Angelica was wearing a short black dress that was cut in a low V. Her normally bouncy golden waves were pulled back into a sleek ponytail and she had glamoured on a dark smokey eye, with Pansy’s trademark cateye liner. 

“I wrote to one of my coven sisters, Violet, and she said it’s meant to be even more exclusive than the old prohibition clubs in New York,” Angelica continued, looking around at the others with excitement. “She was absolutely dead with jealousy.” 

Draco smiled contentedly at Angelica as he laid a hand on top of her own and laced their fingers together. Despite the bumpiness of the past few weeks, everything was finally coming together. 

“Is it true that the location is protected with a derivative of the fidelius charm, so no one can show up uninvited?” Blaise asked in Draco’s direction. 

“Yes, hence why we need Potter to escort us,” said Draco, casting his eyes back to the foyer entrance and remembering how annoyed he was that Potter was over an hour late to pick them up. “He’s the secret keeper of sorts for our party.”

“How over the top,” mused Pansy, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Well if they’re attracting clientele like Harry on a regular basis, I reckon they need to have top of the line security,” said Blaise nodding along. “He acts like it’s no big deal, but it’s well known that the Sons of Gaius have it out for him after his arrest of Calderone. If I were him, I wouldn’t be going anywhere that wasn’t warded to the teeth.” 

“Really?” asked Angelica innocently. “He seemed perfectly at ease last weekend, and we were on a muggle golf course out in the open.”

“That’s Potter for you!” said Blaise with a laugh. “Not a care in the world for his own safety. Did you hear Calderone was let off on appeal last week? Slimy bastard. They kept it out of the papers somehow, but the word went around the Ministry pretty quickly.”

“How unlike the Prophet to avoid printing a scandal. Did the Ministry notify Harry?” asked Pansy, shooting a worried glance in Draco’s direction, which he returned with a pointed stare.

“Well he was at the appeal hearing so he would know,” said Blaise with a shrug. “I wouldn’t worry about it, he’s a skilled Auror I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Draco was not so sure. Potter was not known for his sense of caution. He could feel a knot forming in his stomach, which tightened when the glass doors of the hotel opened and a flustered looking Harry walked through them, followed closely behind by an attractive woman with long brown hair and a lime green dress. 

Harry scanned the faces in the foyer before spotting their group on the settee. He made eye contact with Draco and his face broke into his familiar grin. Draco felt an unpleasant tightness in his chest at the suddenness of Harry’s arrival. He somehow looked even better in his black muggle suit than Draco looked in his, and he raised his hand in an easy wave in their direction. Draco tore his eyes away, pretending to be interested in Pansy’s muttering, “speak of the devil.”

The brunette caught up with Harry and twined her arm around his waist, looking bored. He guided her over to their group, breaking off to accept Blaise’s slap on the back and to kiss Angelica and Pansy on the cheek in greeting. He nodded in Draco’s direction with a warm smile, while Draco kept his expression carefully blank. He didn’t want to set any expectations that they were friends after all, and something about the fluttery feeling he got at Harry’s arrival annoyed him worse than anything.

“It’s about time you arrived,” said Pansy “Draco was about to reduce this entryway to rubble if you didn’t walk through those doors.” 

“Sorry gang,” said Harry bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. “Libby and I got caught up getting ready” 

“Ohhh, no worries mate,” said Blaise with a big wink at Harry. “Pleasure to meet you, Libby” 

“Hi,” said Libby in a weak, breathy voice. She glanced over the group with half-lidded eyes looking entirely unimpressed and then turned to look distractedly out into the foyer, as though trying to spot a more interesting group to sit with. 

“Er, right then,” continued Harry, “Once you guys have finished your drinks, we can head over. It’s just around the corner.”

“Do you want us to get you anything?” asked Angelica, looking inquisitively from Libby to Harry and back. Libby looked at Harry impatiently.

“No no, I’ll just hold us up-- although, please there’s no rush,” said Harry, trying to placate both sides of the group. 

Harry pulled up a few chairs and Angelica struck up a conversation with Libby despite her seeming inability to utter anything longer than a few syllables. Harry tried to catch Draco’s eye, but he pretended to be engrossed in Angelica's blathering, which involved a light card reading that predicted Blaise would wind up singing on a stage and Libby would leave the party with someone famous. 

_Someone famously irritating_ , Draco seethed as Harry shrugged and laughed along with the group at something or other. 

****

Harry led the group out into the summer night en route to Apparecium with Libby holding his hand at the front of the pack and teetering along on unreasonably high heels. Blaise and Pansy were already tipsy and were arguing over whether Blaise should sing something by Celestina Warbeck or the Weird Sisters when he undoubtedly got stage time later in the evening. 

Draco and Angelica trailed slightly behind, where Draco could glower at the back of Potter’s head without the others noticing.

“Libby seems a bit of an odd match for Harry, don’t you think?” asked Angelica.

“Who knows,” said Draco flippantly. If he were famous, he’d probably pick a pretty but silent one too. 

“I just mean, Harry’s so interesting, I would have thought he’d go for someone a bit more outspoken,” she said. “Is she his usual type?”

Draco tried to remember Ginny Weasley. Explosive, stubborn, but certainly smart. What had happened between them after all? This Libby character was about as interesting as a flobberworm, so it couldn’t have been her. Could it? 

“If you keep that up, you are going to make me extremely jealous,” teased Draco, leaning down to kiss Angelica. 

The group had come to a stop in front of a homely looking italian restaurant at the base of a muggle apartment complex. A man with a pencil thin moustache and a small white apron was talking to Harry before sweeping inside, Harry motioned the rest of the gang to follow him. 

The restaurant was full of run of the mill muggle families seated for dinner of pasta and breadsticks. Some of them looked up as the elegantly dressed group walked between the red and white checkered tablecloths but most continued eating. That was muggles for you, happy to remain ignorant. 

The group passed through a tasseled curtain into a private dining area with a large round table. The walls were jam packed with framed photos of an italian coastline, postcards of rome, and a painting of the pope. 

“‘Zis way, if you please,” sait the waiter in a heavy accent, motioning them through and then scurrying back out, drawing the curtain closed behind him. 

No sooner had it swung back into place than the room started gently spinning around the table like a carousel, the frames rattling softly against the walls. Angelica and Blaise inspected some of the pictures with interest, chatting about Angelica’s most recent trip to the Amalfi Coast, while Libby looked disinterestedly at her nails. Pansy was saying something to Harry about his early retirement and Draco, looking for something in the room to pretend to be interested in, kept his eyes on the chandelier overhead, which appeared to be stretching upwards. 

As the room completed its rotation, pulsating music could be heard growing louder until they were surrounded by it. Finally the room came to a stop and the curtain was pulled open by a woman with porcelain white skin that glimmered in the dim light of the cavernous room beyond. 

“Welcome,” she said, ushering them through. 

The group ducked through the doorway into a massive room, packed corner to corner with plush looking booths in dark jewel tones. The high vaulted ceiling overhead was painted with cherubs and other rococo-style figures, who moved about languidly between pastel clouds, like Greek gods looking down from Mount Olympus. It was though the Sistine Chapel and Trelawney’s divination classroom had come together in a single aesthetic. 

It quickly became clear that Draco had not imagined the vertical stretching of the room, as they were now at the very top of the muggle building they’d entered, looking out on the evening skyline from a penthouse view. On all sides, the space was framed with large, sweeping windows framed with floor to ceiling curtains dripping with tassels. Beyond which the lights of London glimmering from every angle. Past the bottleservice area and an expanse of open floor was a low stage, where a group of melancholy looking women sang a chant-like song. 

Though the room was dim, Draco could make out the faces of a few recognisable individuals in the upper echelon of society, including the heiress of the Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean fortune, and a table full of professional quidditch players who looked to be a mixture of Falmouth Falcons and the Dutch national team. 

The pale woman who had greeted them guided them through the club towards a booth near the stage, passing crowded tables with beautifully dressed, boisterous groups of witches and wizards, who reclined over the plush furniture and sipped elaborate looking drinks. The drone of conversation could hardly be heard over the steady beat of the music. Other pale, slightly shimmering women could be seen pouring bottles and dancing gracefully throughout the crowd. 

“Veela!” mouthed Blaise to Pansy, as he pointed to the back of the woman leading them. Pansy elbowed him and tried to suppress a smile, which had Blaise laughing and draping a big arm around her shoulder.

Harry was immediately recognised as he made his way through, returning nods of greeting and sharing a few quick words with the Seeker of the Falcons who jumped up to clap him on the shoulder as he passed. He seemed to be acquainted with the majority of the patrons in the room, who greeted him not out of awe but with a certain cursory familiarity. Harry, for his part, seemed genuinely happy to see them and be seen. It seemed slightly out of character for Harry, who in Draco’s memory, had often tried to slip out of the limelight, despite Prophet reports to the contrary. 

And he wasn't the only one that was acting out of character -- From the moment the curtain had been pulled away, it was like Libby had transformed into an entirely different person. She was practically dripping off of Harry’s shoulder as they made their way to the booth, swinging her hips as she walked. She smiled a toothy smile and laughed loudly, shouting greetings across the drone of the music. When she spotted a scantily clad witch in magenta, they simultaneously shrieked and did a sort of funny high heeled run towards each other, air kissing cheeks in greeting. 

The pale woman finally stopped at a midnight blue booth with a low table, glittering with enchanted light that slightly illuminated the space from below. She gestured with a graceful hand and slowly blinked her white eyelashes at them with a dreamy smile. Harry leaned over to speak to her over the noise of the crowd and she nodded and drifted away. 

Harry turned back to the rest of the group (sans Libby who was giggling maniacally with the magenta witch’s fashionable crew one table over), and said, “I’ve ordered us some champagne to start, but feel free to get whatever you like. The table is on me tonight.”

“You’re joking! Aw mate, you’re too good to us,” said Blaise, slapping Harry on the back, which seemed to knock the wind out of him. 

“It’s nothing really,” said Harry straightening up and pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I’m happy to host you guys.”

“It must be costing you a fortune. Is there some sort of discount for national heroes?” asked Pansy drily. 

“Er sure I guess, they always take pretty good care of me here,” said Harry.

“Well in that case I have no issue with it. Quick Blaise, find us the most extravagant drink on the menu”

“Here it is,” said Blaise, already paging through. “They have a ‘65 vintage of Ogden’s Old.”

“What about this one, Godric's Gimlet,” said Angelica, pointing over Blaise’s arm at the menu. “Do you think it really has phoenix tears in it?” 

“You’re going to get more than you bargained for with this group,” said Draco to Harry as the others flagged down a passing waitress.

“It’s fine, really,” said Harry with a laugh. “I’m here all the time. And I’d rather spring for you guys than Libby’s friends.” 

Draco chanced a look in Libby’s direction and saw that she and the Magenta witch had been joined by a few others at the next table, all talking simultaneously at each other and gesturing with floppy hands around the room.

“Charming,” said Draco with an eyebrow raised.

“They’re a fun crowd, but not the most interesting chat,” said Harry following his gaze. At that moment one of the witches spilled her drink and another wheeled on her. 

Draco smirked. "Careful, Potter. One might think you actually enjoy our company.”

“Merlin forbid,” said Harry with an eye roll. “Besides, I know I’d never hear the end of it if I tried to short change you on our bet.”

“Certainly not. A man’s only as good as his word” 

“That reminds me,” said Harry, turning to fix Draco with a questioning look. “How did you go with digging up any information on the DuPont deal?”

The memory of the afternoon’s meeting came back in an icy rush, like a winter wind under the collar. Should he tell Potter the new information he discovered, or tell him to mind his own business. 

“Well I--”

Before Draco could finish, a veela waitress appeared between them with a cluster of champagne flutes levitating behind her, and began pouring out drinks. The others clambered around excitedly and Harry caught Draco’s eye, waving away the question as if to say tell me later.

“Cheers gang,” boomed Blaise over the music, holding up a full, foaming glass of champagne. “To old friends.”

“And new friends!” piped Angelica.

“And quidditch rivals!” said Pansy despite a stern look from Draco.

The group clinked their champagne glasses together, as the music from the band changed over and a few tables around them cheered as the new song started. 

“Ugh! I’m having just the best time, I love you guys so much,” said Angelica bouncing in place. “Hopefully we’ll be able to see each other again soon. Otherwise, I’m sure we’ll see you all at our wedding next year!”

Draco’s head snapped in Angelica’s direction, but she merely beamed back at the group and patted his arm.

“So it’s official!” said Pansy, looking back and forth between Draco and Angelica. 

“Well we haven’t—“ started Draco, feeling Harry go suddenly still at his side 

“We haven’t finalised all the details,” said Angelica, “but we’ve been discussing it all week. We’ll be setting a date sometime soon.” 

“My dear! Congratulations” said Pansy, hugging Angelica gently.

“Get over here you big idiot,” said Blaise, enveloping Draco in a massive hug. 

“So happy for you both,” said Pansy, coming close to kiss him on the cheek and whisper in his ear, “what a relief!” 

As she stepped back he could see she had plastered on an expression of excitement, but there was a crease of worry between her eyebrows. 

Draco realised he had not said anything other than muttered thank yous and was now standing with many eyes on him, Angelica gazed up expectantly with her hand tightening slightly on his arm. Without another moment’s hesitation, he slipped back into character and wrapped a loving arm around Angelica, pulling her close and planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. 

“Yes, well I’m quite beside myself,” said Draco, with a confident smile. He hadn’t been expecting it till the end of the evening, but he was pleased that Angelica had formally accepted the match. He could finally rest easy, knowing that his plans had come to fruition. “I couldn’t be happier.” 

“All the more reason to celebrate!” said Blaise, grabbing the champagne bottle from the table and topping up everyone’s glass again. 

As the rest were laughing and sloshing around too-full glasses of champagne, Draco chanced a glance back at Harry who was watching the group with a somewhat blank expression. As Draco looked across he cracked a grin and raised his glass. 

“Cheers, you two,” he said.

*** 

Draco was about three glasses of firewhiskey deep when Libby came and found him at the table. It had become clear that Libby was a true socialite at heart, and was most interested in valuable connections. So when someone had finally tipped her off about the identity of a few members of her group, Draco officially passed from unimportant bystander to potential social ladder rung and she was determined to leap into his good books.

She sidled up to him on the booth and was now talking incessantly about other acquaintances of note, which Draco was in the process of ignoring entirely. 

“And that’s when I decided to follow the HinkyPunks on tour for a whole year. I mean I was practically part of the band, I travelled on their tour bus and everything. Well for bits and pieces of the year anyway. And you won’t believe, they asked me to weigh in on the lyrics to ‘the magic words,’ and I told them to do the line about stirring clockwise for love..” 

Draco massaged his temple and wondered why in Merlin's name had he been saddled with this twit for the last half hour. He looked at Libby incredulously, but she seemed not to notice and carried on with her story, as enthralled with the sound of her own voice as Gilderoy Lockhart on his autobiographical book tour. Draco took a big drink from his glass and scanned the crowd for the rest of his group. 

Pansy and Blaise were sipping on bubbling beverages and talking animatedly on the other side of the table, though he could hear nothing of what they were saying. The group had long since realised they could put up an imperturbable charm and they’d be able to bubble their conversations from the noise of the club. Draco had not attempted to do this with Libby. 

Angelica would have been a saving grace at this point but he’d refused to go on the dance floor and she’d befriended a few of Libby’s acquaintances who had taken her to dance. He could see her sleek ponytail swishing about in the throng of people as the band got to the chorus of some ear splitting heavy beat. At least she was enjoying herself, that was one less thing to worry about. 

And Harry, though he had attempted to pay no interest in him, he knew that Harry was sitting a few tables over with a group of professional quidditch players chatting and laughing and looking completely at ease, if a little flushed in the face from so many drinks. And if he wasn’t mistaken there was something other than alcohol getting passed around at a few tables in a small green glass vial. 

Draco spotted the vial in the meaty hands of a chap who looked like a Beater, with fair hair, a heavy brow, and a nose that had been broken probably a dozen times or more. He held the vial up to his nose and took a deep inhale, then blinked rapidly and looked around the room in a sort of daze. It was likely powdered pepper up, Draco surmised, or perhaps felix asinus, commonly known as fool's luck. 

Pepper up was usually the indulgence of choice with this sort of crowd, but fool’s luck was more fun if you could get your hands on it. It was rumoured to have a one in ten chance of the true luck-giving properties of felix felicis, but at the very least had the unique effect of making one feel unstoppably lucky. In Draco’s own experience, the luck part was just an illusion but being buoyantly optimistic and uninhibited was fun for a night at least.

The Beater seemed to be coming out of his daze and a dopey smile spread across his face, revealing a chipped front tooth. He lumbered to his feet and took a few steps towards an attractive witch at the next table. He leaned toward her to say something and she hauled back and slapped him across the face, turning indignantly and marching off while the Beater looked on dreamily, hand cupping his cheek. Yep, definitely fool’s luck. 

Draco was no stranger to the odd party hit, but what could Potter, a recently retired auror and ministry golden boy, possibly be thinking messing about with the stuff?

“That summer we went on a yacht around Greece for about a month till I finally realised I was more interested in the sporty type than the artistic type,” said Libby, still attempting to talk over the volume of the club. “They’re so melodramatic you know, it’s always ‘you don’t understand me.’ Anyway, I was introduced to the captain of the Gorgons over a stop in Mykonos and we dated for about six months…” 

Draco glanced back at Libby, slightly impressed by her endurance but mostly wondering how she was still going on about herself. At any rate, he wasn’t dying to go anywhere else at the moment and at least he could think through the issues presented to him at his afternoon’s meeting while simultaneously tuning her out entirely. He sensed a pause in her babbling and smiled and nodded in her direction while signaling a waiter for another whiskey. She carried on about the difference between casting spells in Greek versus English and he turned his mental energy to the problem at hand. 

He had been unsure what to expect, heading out through muggle London earlier in the day with the address his mother had received by owl in response to her note to Lucius’s old business acquaintances. All Narcissa had been able to tell him was that after the first wizarding war, she and Lucius knew they needed to move quickly to realign their political affiliations with the right factions. His father had been extremely motivated to diversify the family’s investments in the instance that they were unable to get back in the ministry’s good graces and needed something to fall back on. 

It was around that time he became connected with a small group that he referred to as the Collective. Often traveling out to London for what he described to Narcissa as investment opportunities. Draco had been an infant at the time, and Lucius took great pains to keep Narcissa out of the public eye for fear of retribution against his own misdeeds as a Death Eater. Luckily the “imperius” defence held up in court, and the small pot of money they’d set aside for investments was left to simmer away while they resumed their normal life. 

It was surprising then, when Draco found himself outside of a cheery, red brick muggle office building with a swinging sign that read Greenacre Capital. And then below it in a smaller font, Mr Lawrence Greenacre, Private Equity. Draco entered through the narrow door and found himself in short order across the desk from Mr Greenacre. A tall, well dressed man with a straight nose and a salt and pepper beard.

“So pleased to meet you, Draco,” he said, shaking his hand warmly. “We have met once or twice before when you were quite small, though I wouldn’t expect you to remember”

Draco sat back in his chair returning the smile politely, trying to recall if he had ever met this man before. The office was altogether too.. still. He was used to the hum of magic, but this place felt particularly devoid of it. Books stood solemnly on their shelves, pens were clustered in a cup, and a computer whirred away softly on the desk. 

“I’m sorry to say I don’t, though my mother says my father spoke of you fondly.” 

“Yes, such a shame about Lucius. I did read about it in the papers” said Greenacre, leaning back so his swivel chair creaked and lacing his fingers together in his lap. 

The papers? It couldn’t possibly be in the muggle papers, and yet, Greenacre hadn’t shown any magical ability. Draco was trying to weigh up whether this man was muggle or magical when Greenacre chuckled softly and continued.

“It’s quite alright,” he said, sensing Draco’s hesitation. “I’m a squib.” 

“Oh, well, yes I see,” said Draco quickly, unsure of what to say. The only squibs he had ever known had been, well incompetent, hadn’t they? Greenacre continued to smile, unperturbed, as though he knew the exact thoughts racing around Draco’s head. 

“I understand my father used to partner with you on investment opportunities,” Draco continued hastily. “What exactly was the nature of your arrangement?” 

“Ah. Well your father is one of several prestigious investors in my firm. I manage what’s known as private equity. Are you familiar with the term?” 

“Is it a muggle term?” Draco asked before he could stop himself 

Greenacre chuckled at this. “Yes, it is, but we at Greenacre Capital deal with both magical and non magical alike. Private equity is a type of investment where the capital is not publicly traded. Meaning the investment is either with a private company, or in buying out a public company and taking it private. Then the business can be rebuilt, or acquired and delisted. Do you follow?” 

“So my father would have put forward money in exchange for some interest in a private company?” That tracked with what he had heard so far at any rate, even if he had to pretend he understood what a few of Greenacre’s terms meant.

“That’s right. Your father was an interesting man because beyond being an investor, he also brought a few deals to the table. I would have hired him if I thought he would work for me! But he was steadfast in maintaining his aristocrat status.”

Draco wasn’t sure if this was intended to be a slight or a compliment, but he carried on with the conversation, “I was wondering if perhaps you might be able to shed any light on a certain deal, which my mother mentioned in her note?” 

“Yes, I’d be happy to,” said Greenacre, sitting up and shuffling through a few papers on his desk before picking up a stack held together by a clip and tossing it lightly over to Draco’s side of the desk. 

_“DuPont Pharmaceuticals / Flamel & Sons merger” _read the top line of the page. “Deal initiated by Lucius Malfoy, 4th November, 1994.” Draco kept his features in a carefully trained neutral expression. Even though he had logically surmised that the deal did in fact exist, it was a jolt to see his father’s name next to the familiar elegant signature. 

As Draco paged through, Greenacre continued in a bemused voice, “This one has been on my books for a long while. I remember it falling through, it was a devastating blow. We ended up not executing on the buyout, and the investors and the American partner company were furious.”

“So I’ve heard,” mused Draco absently as he paged through the lengthy document. 

“By then of course the whole country had gone to pot and by the time the world was back in order it was largely forgotten,” continued Greenacre, swiveling slightly on his creaking chair. “Flamel & Sons even ended up making up for their losses after the war, but who’s surprised that war is good for medical alchemy”

Draco hummed in agreement, trying to concentrate on deciphering the document in his hands. He could feel Greenacre’s eyes scrutinising him from across the desk. 

“And so, some debts go unpaid,” said Greenacre with a small sigh. “There was very little opportunity for recourse at any rate, and before long, Lucius was out of our grasp.” He paused and Draco looked up to meet a slightly chilly stare. “You look very much like him, you know.” 

“Yes, I’ve been told,” said Draco, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat. “Can you tell me more about the circumstances of the deal?” 

Greenacre cleared his throat and leaned forward over the desk, turning the next few pages over to a section titled _Purchase of Assets._

“We had identified Flamen & Sons as a failing brand in the magical medical remedies sector, and were planning for a buyout when Lucius proposed an M&A opportunity. He was old friends with DuPont and knew he had been looking to make an entrance into the European market. He made the connection and acted as facilitator of the deal, as well as putting a portion of his own fund on the table.”

“A portion?” 

Greenacre paused at this, seeming to consider how much to reveal, but decided to carry on. “Lucius had developed a small fund of independent backers. A few personal acquaintances, business connections, that sort of thing.” 

“The Collective,” said Draco, under his breath. He had assumed this man _was_ the Collective, but of course his father’s acquaintances would be more careful than to let themselves be found by direct means. Greenacre was merely a middleman. Perhaps intentionally chosen for his inability to use magic. 

“That’s right,” said Greenacre, nodding slowly with a strange glint in his eye. “They Collective acted as co-signatories on the deal.”

Draco turned to the last page where there was a list of about a dozen names signed in a dark reddish brown. The majority of names were not familiar at first glance, though the third name on the list caught his eye as the signature had a line running through it. _Rodolphus Lestrange._

Draco felt an immediate sense of distaste at the name, however he knew the Lestrange estate had some value and his father would have leveraged the familial connection. It was moot now at any rate, Lestrange had died due to complications from the Dementor’s kiss a few years back.

The second name on the list he recognised was harder to reconcile. Written in a tight script, was the name _Andre F. Calderone_. Lestrange he could at least make sense of, but Calderone was certainly criminal underworld. Judging by these two names alone, Draco could surmise something nefarious about the remainder of names on the list, and felt slightly sick at the thought of it. 

“Yes, I recognise a few of these names,” said Draco evenly, he could almost feel his mark burning under his sleeve. 

“Your mother indicated that you were interested in taking over the family’s affairs with Lucius... indisposed?” said Greengrass, slowly. 

“My father is incarcerated on a term of life imprisonment in Azkaban with no connection to the outside world,” said Draco, placing the papers back on the desk with a snap as he could feel his temper rising. He was done beating around the bush. “So yes, I would say he will be ‘indisposed’ for the foreseeable future. In the meantime, I am the de facto custodian of my family’s investments. And frankly, I’m surprised that we have not been contacted directly about these matters.” 

Greenacre started in surprise at the change in Draco’s tone. “Apologies, Mr Malfoy,” said Greenacre sitting back up in his chair, “But the terms of secrecy around the Collective’s affairs are quite strict. Only in the event of death--”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Draco, gesturing to Rodolphus’s signature. “However it may be quite some time before my father experiences true death.” He could feel his voice catch slightly at the thought. 

Yes he was furious at his father for keeping him in the dark on these matters, but he could deeply sympathise with the circumstances that made Lucius forge ties with the Collective. “What will it take to substitute my name on the deal?” 

“B-but Mr Malfoy, these are complicated affairs,” stuttered Greenacre, reaching into his pocket to put on a small pair of spectacles and beginning to rifle through the papers on his desk. “I would strongly advise you to get outside counsel on this sort of arrangement. The terms of the deal are quite binding”

Draco could feel a flutter of panic, but he knew deep down that he had already made his decision. A decade ago, his father had walked into this office, maybe even sat in this chair, and initiated a deal that had the potential to save his family from ruin. And now, that same deal would finally be paying dividends. Draco may not have had control over the circumstances that had led his family to the brink, but he would not be the one to leave their name in debt. 

He had already determined, possibly since the moment on the golf course when he was cornered by DuPont, that he would be taking his fathers place on the deal. Reneging at this point would be reputational suicide, DuPont would make sure of it. Whereas taking the deal would unlock everything he had been working for. There was only one choice. 

“No need,” said Draco resolutely. “I assume that once I commit to this arrangement, you’ll be able to introduce me to the rest of the Collective?”

Greenacre ceased his ruffling through papers and nodded mutely. 

“Then where do I sign?” 

With a sigh, Greenacre opened a side drawer of his desk and pulled out a long green box. Opening it on it’s hinge, it revealed a sharp black quill. 

Draco hardly felt the pain, as the skin on the back of his hand was cut open and in a moment his signature was glistening menacingly on the page in his own blood. 

A sudden change in the music dragged Draco out of his thoughts and back to Aparecium, where Libby was still chattering away and laughing at something she had just said. He absently massaged the back of his hand at the memory of the black quill, and realised that his whiskey glass was once again empty. As the room around him came back into focus, his eyes darted around for another waitress to order a drink from. How many was that again?

“..He was so secretive at first when he was in hospital, but she got special access to begin covering the story as an exclusive” Libby’s incessant talking began to hit his eardrums again, and he put a hand to his forehead in exasperation. “She said he was just the sweetest, like a little puppy. And I mean, I knew who he was of course but I never thought he was particularly fit but then when she introduced me to him at the gala and I saw those green eyes--”

Draco’s head whipped around. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

Libby put on a pout and crossed her arms. “Were you even listening to me?” 

“Yes, I’ve been entranced,” said Draco through his teeth. He could have sworn she was just talking about Potter. “It’s just the music is so loud--here, come a bit closer and tell me again?” He smiled and she dropped her arms and sidled over. 

“Well I was only saying that my friend Gemma is a writer for the Prophet. She covered Harry’s bust of the Sons of Gaius and got to speak to him while he was recovering. She thought I’d be a perfect match for him becau--”

“Recovering from what?” asked Draco impatiently.

Libby blinked, clearly not used to being interrupted when talking about herself. “I don’t know, it was like a reducto curse or something. Nearly blew him to pieces, they had to regrow part of his side where it hit him. But by the time I met him he looked normal again.” 

“How convenient for you,” said Draco coldly. 

Libby carried on obliviously, “I know right. But really when he’s all together he’s pretty cute. And by the time I met him at the gala he was completely over it. We really hit it off and I was telling him if he ever wanted to come party I could get him into all the right places. He owled me the next day and wanted to go out and we’ve been pretty much partying ever since!”

“So you’ve only known Potter for the last few weeks?” said Draco trying to put the pieces together and suddenly feeling the whiskey’s effects as the wheels of his brain creaked into gear. If what Libby was saying was true, something was definitely off. Potter had a near death experience which was not reported despite having Prophet journalists in the know, then subsequently left the force, shed his lifelong friends, and turned into a party animal in the course of the last few weeks? 

“Yeah but that’s because he never used to party before. Being an Auror is such a drag,” she said, reaching into the cleavage of her dress and pulling out a small green vial that she waved playfully in front of his face. “You want some?” 

“Absolutely not,” said Draco seething with disdain. He instinctively looked around for Potter, but he was no longer at the table where Draco had last seen him.

“Suit yourself,” said Libby with a shrug, flopping back on the booth and taking a bump out of the tiny vial. 

At that moment Pansy came sweeping over in her red dress and tapped Libby on the shoulder. “My dear, there are some athletic looking men on the other side of the room looking for you. They were saying you met in Ibiza?”

“Oh!” said Libby springing up, and clomping precariously away. 

Pansy sat gingerly in her place and took the empty whiskey glass out of Draco’s hand, replacing it with a full one. She cast a quick imperturbable charm around them and the music immediately dimmed. 

“Thought I better come save you. Or her! Looked like you were about to set her on fire,” she said with a smile. “Can’t say she didn’t deserve it though, that woman is punishing.”

“You know she just told me that she only just met Potter, and through a journalist no less!” said Draco, still thinking through the implications of what Libby had just said.

“Oh really? She’s probably just a fling for Harry I wouldn’t think anything of it,” said Pansy attempting to dismiss this line of conversation.

“And it was after a near death experience that put him in hospital. Somehow this is all connected,” said Draco, trying to remember what Potter had said about his departure from the force. Something about an ongoing investigation.

“Don’t be dramatic,” said Pansy playful, “He’s an Auror, I’m sure he’s getting patched up for one thing or another all the time.” 

“No, something’s off,” said Draco, shaking his head.

“Look at me, Draco,” said Pansy in a serious tone, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s off is that Angelica is over somewhere dancing by herself and you’re sitting over here worrying about Harry.” 

Draco paused for a minute and let the words sink in. Pansy’s stare faded from reprimanding to comforting. “I’m worried you’re about to make a choice you’ll regret.” 

Draco pushed a hand through his hair and sat the full glass down on the table. Pansy was right, he needed to come to his senses.

“You’re right, I should go find Angelica.” He went to stand up, but Pansy kept her hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him back down. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said imploringly. “Look, I know you. I know you think what you’re doing is right. But It’s been years since I’ve seen you genuinely happy, and, well, I can see the way you and Harry look at each other.”

“That’s absurd,” said Draco with a huff of laughter. Granted, he knew there had been a well of feeling rising that he’d suppressed, but surely he was more in control of himself than for that sort of thing to be noticed. And after all, only an idiot would fall for the chosen one. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean”

Pansy rolled her eyes and sat back on the booth. “Please, do you even hear yourself? He’s been the only topic of conversation for weeks. I know you disappeared with him at the gala, I know something happened at the Scotland weekend that you’re not telling me. And tonight, he’s inviting you to this lavish thing and you both keep glancing across the room at each other. It’s completely obvious.”

Draco scoffed, “Tonight is just settling a bet.”

“And you really believe that?” said Pansy, raising her eyebrows. “And what, pray, were the terms of this bet?”

“If I won the golf game, he’d host us here for a night out, and if he won then I had to speak on some Gryffindor event this weekend. Something about old house quidditch rivalries.”

Pansy burst into laughter.

“What?” said Draco, perturbed. “It would have been a nightmare if I had to do that, I’ll have you know. Damned Oliver Wood was supposed to be on it with him and had to cancel.”

Pansy fell into another peel of laughter and was gingerly wiping at her eyes. “You’re serious! Merlin help us,” she said between laughs. “Alright look, I know for a fact that can not be true. He’s doing it to spend time with you, you idiot.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Well first of all, that’s just a preposterous deal to make over a game of golf,” she said, sitting up and collecting herself. “And second of all, because that’s Oliver Wood right there. He works for the Falcons now, doesn’t he?” 

Draco followed her pointing and spotted a familiar looking face among a crowd of quidditch players at a table against the wall. Suddenly the whole thing sounded ridiculous to him. If Potter had given him a phony bet, then he’d intended for them to end up at Aparecium all along. He tried to think of what motivations could be underlying this series of events but mind was a bit foggy and part of him wanted to believe Pansy. He glanced around for Potter but couldn’t spot him. 

“Dearest,” said Pansy, moving closer to him and running her hand through his hair. “Before too long you’re going to be married, and how will you feel then when all this is just a memory? I don’t want that for you. I know what it’s like to want something you can never have.” 

Draco met her gaze and there was something sad in her eyes. “Go on,” she continued. “If you can only have one night, let it be tonight.”

The gravity of her words hit him like a ton of bricks. There was a pang in his chest as he pictured Harry’s stupid smile, the glint in his eyes as they bickered at the statue, the way he controlled the room when he put McLaggen in his place, his good natured ribbing with the DuPonts on the golf course. 

It was a feeling he had tried to push away years ago any time he was chasing Harry on a broom, or calling him out in class, or watching him dive head first into some ill advised adventure. There had always been something there between him and Harry, even that first day at Madame Malkin’s, before it was anything he could put a name to. 

The final piece of the puzzle clicked. Angelica’s spread from so many days ago had predicted that a force of change would come into his life. Someone who was adventurous and foolhardy and brave and lucky. For once, he wasn’t even annoyed to be thinking of the cards. Harry was his Knight of Wands.

Draco went to stand before remembering, “Angelica --”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Pansy, gesturing in the direction of the dance floor where a familiar ponytail bobbed about, the towering figure of Blaise dancing around at her side. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s smashed, she won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“Pansy…” he said, uncertain of what he really wanted to say. “I owe you.” 

She laughed and he gave her a kiss on the cheek, took a swig of his whiskey on the table and went out into the club to find Harry. 

***

He hadn’t realised how vast the stupid venue was until he’d attempted to find his way around drunk. Only then did he discover the strange corridors and curtained alcoves that sprung off the main floor in seemingly random directions, only to rejoin the venue in another spot. After searching unsuccessfully for a considerable while, he made his way out onto the balcony, leaning his elbows on the railing and staring out at the glittering nightscape of sleeping London. 

“Gets a bit loud in there, doesn’t it?” said a familiar voice. Draco looked up and saw Harry on the far end of the balcony, hands in the pockets of his suit, wind rustling his hair. 

Draco felt his heart begin to beat uncharacteristically fast at the sight of him, and he searched for something intelligent to say. Maybe he should have taken the hit of fool’s luck after all. 

“Do you always make a habit of leaving your own parties?” he asked, sounding more smug than he’d intended. 

Harry laughed. “Sorry about that, sometimes the crowds can be too much. I haven’t been great with them since the war.” 

He walked over to Draco and came to rest his elbows on the railing next to him. This close, Draco could see the lights of the city reflected in his round lenses. His face was flushed and he swayed slightly, undoubtedly drunker than Draco himself at this point. 

“For someone who’s trying to avoid crowds, you’ve picked an interesting date.” 

“Libby? Come on, she’s good value” said Harry, nudging Draco with his elbow. 

“Yet you’re so keen to escape,” Draco said with a conspiratorial smirk, before he realised how closely he was leaning to Potter and repositioned himself farther down the railing.

“She’s well connected at any rate, “ said Harry with a shrug. “She got me into Aparecium originally. It’s pretty great here, don’t you think?”

“If you like going gradually deaf while spending a million galleons on cocktails.” 

“Great, I’m so glad I brought you,” said Harry with an eye roll. 

“Well it was better than the alternative,” said Draco. “By the way, how did your little Gryffindor gathering go in the end?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was fine,” said Harry, unconvincingly. “You would have hated it,”

“Lucky for me then that you missed those last two holes,” said Draco, unable to resist prying. Damn, this was not at all the direction he wanted this conversation to go. He needed to get them back on a topic where they had common ground.

“I mean if you think it was just luck, I’d be happy to play you again,” said Harry, turning to face Draco with a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Best of three? I’ve got plenty of time for golf these days” 

“Well Potter, unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of being retired at the age of 25.” 

“Oh yeah?” said Harry with a laugh. “Hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but sports betting does not count as employment.”

“Angelica’s father offered me a job actually,” said Draco, not sure why he was continuing on this line of conversation, if only to prove to Harry that DuPont had thought him capable of the task. 

“Doing what?” asked Harry, his voice tinged with a slight chill. 

“Launching his company in Europe. We’re revitalising the old deal,” 

Harry’s face darkened. “You’re joking”

Draco scoffed, now realising that he’d steered them onto a topic he distinctly did not want to talk about. “Oh I see, it’s a joke to you that he can see that sort of potential in me outside of the match, is that what you’re saying?” 

Harry was regarding him seriously, dark eyebrows knitted together, with a look of genuine concern -- or was it pity? Draco could feel his blood boiling.

What was happening? He’d come out on this balcony to find Harry, and possibly to tell him something quite personal and vulnerable, and here they were in a stupid spat again. In the same breath he was feeling gutted by Harry’s disapproval and determined to prove his superiority. His heart was beating in his ears, or maybe that was just the ridiculously loud music.

“No, that’s not it,” said Harry, waving his hand as though trying to clear the air. “It’s just, there’s a lot to think about before you make that kind of decision.”

“Like what?” 

Harry sighed, “Have you looked into this family? I did some digging and I’m concerned they’re not altogether on the straight and narrow.”

“Of course I looked into this family, Potter,” spat Draco. “I know exactly what I’m getting into and I’m more than capable of handling my father’s old affairs. It’s an enormous opportunity for me.”

“So that’s it then” said Harry, with a hint of challenge in his voice. “A pureblood alliance and a position of power were all it took to make you forget your concerns? I know you’re marrying into that family, but it doesn’t mean you have to mold yourself in Edgar’s shadow. He’s not Lucius, you know”

Draco felt like he’d been smacked in the face. He pushed back from the railing and stood up to his full height, though swaying slightly “What the fuck could you possibly know about it?”

“Not this again,” said Harry glancing behind them, where past the sweeping windows the crowds of people in the club continued their merriment. 

“No, really. I’m dying to know what you could possibly think you know about my life. You might think you have some notion of it after a few conversations over a pint, but you have no idea.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” said Harry defensively.

“Thanks so much for the kind gesture of digging up dirt on the family of the woman I’m about to marry, that’s incredibly helpful to me. Well I’ve learned my lesson of ever thinking I could confide in an Auror,” said Draco, gripping the raining to steady himself. 

“What I mean to say--”

“An Auror who, by the way, has thrown in the towel and now spends his days getting high on fool’s luck.” Draco could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but was too late to stop them. 

“Steady on,” said Harry in a more serious voice.

“And while we’re on the topic, I find it interesting that when we were having our little heart-to-heart, you neglected to mention that you were nearly the casualty of a full on reducto a few weeks before leaving the force. Can’t imagine that has something to do with your little ‘ongoing investigation’ does it?” 

Harry stood up abruptly and grabbed Draco by the elbow, casting a furtive glance through the windows of the club. 

“Let’s go over here, there’s a spot away from the windows,” he said dragging Draco along with him down the length of the balcony. Despite having a few inches on Harry, he was surprised how strong he was as he was practically dragged along behind him. Harry’s jaw was clenched and his expression was dark. 

They ended at a spot that seemed to be behind the stage of the club, where the distant hum of the music could still be heard, but all that surrounded them were the lights of London far below. 

Harry looked around and quickly cast a muffliato. 

“You are such an idiot sometimes,” he said, letting go of Draco roughly who stumbled back against the building. “I never should have mentioned that to you. And what the hell do you think you’re doing bringing it up in such a public place?”

“Oh so you can go prying into my private business, but I can’t know about yours? What are you scared of? You think I’m going to run off and tell my death eater friends your secrets, is that it?” said Draco, shoving Harry back. 

Harry laughed incredulously, but Draco could see the anger rising in his face. “It’s not about me, it’s dangerous for you! Meddling in Lucius’s affairs is dangerous, meddling in my affairs is dangerous, the whole thing is mad.”

“Time for you to grow up and stop playing the hero, Potter,” spat Draco. “Some of us are beyond saving.” 

Harry stood still for a moment, coat hanging slightly crooked from where he’d been pushed. “Please, just trust me for once,” he said, a note of genuine concern in his voice. 

“Alright, Saint Potter, I’ll bite,” said Draco, stepping closer to him. “What would you have me do?”

“Look, we’re both drunk,” said Harry, attempting to straighten his jacket “Owl me tomorrow and we can talk.”

“No, I insist,” said Draco, stepping into Harry’s space. “How are you going to save me this time?”

Harry paused, his eyes searching Draco’s face. Without thinking, without even knowing what he was doing, Draco grabbed Harry’s shirt and kissed him, hard. 

Harry stumbled back instinctively, shoving Draco away and locking eyes with him, confusion etched across his face. Draco felt a moment of panic, like the floor had been ripped out from under him, when all of a sudden Harry was back in his arms. Their lips crashed together and Harry wrapped a strong hand around the back of his neck, drawing him close. 

Draco could feel the warm weight of his arms, the flutter of breath against his cheek, the pulse of the music through the floor of the balcony. He felt a pang of desire that he had never realised existed inside of him, and was suddenly ravenous. He drew a hand against Harry’s jaw and threaded his fingers through the wild, dark hair. 

Harry pulled back, taking a breath and a small step away. His green eyes still shockingly close and bright in the low light of the balcony. 

“I think you better come back to mine,” he said in a low voice. “Will you?” 

“Yes,” said Draco, more quickly than he had intended. Leaning in to kiss him again, Harry kissed him back. 

“Go tell the others I need you to apparate me home, and I’ll tell Libby,” said Harry, his voice controlled. “Then take the Italian restaurant exit that we came in on, and meet me in the side street the opposite direction from the hotel.” 

Draco nodded, but could hardly think of anything to say. Harry stepped away, his eyes lingering on Draco, then smiled, shook his head as if in disbelief, and walked off down the far side of the balcony.

Draco stood rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had they been arguing? He couldn’t even remember. All he could think of was the kiss and getting out of this damn club and back into Harry’s arms. 

He quickly ran a hand through his hair to smooth it and took off in the opposite direction to Harry. He made his way back to the table easily, only to find no one there. He spotted Pansy and the others on the dance floor, and pushed his way through to her. He told her where he was going over the deafening sound of the music and her face lit up as she flung her arms around his neck. She nodded that she would take care of Angelica and he could feel himself beaming as he stepped back out of the crowd. 

No sooner was he out of the throng of people than Blaise was jumping up on stage and grabbing the mic, belting out over the din of the music and pointing out to Pansy in the crowd. Angelica was shrieking with joy as she bounced up and down, and Pansy covered her eyes in embarrassment and laughed. 

He hardly remembered leaving the club through the small Italian restaurant. His chest was bursting with excitement and anticipation. He briefly wondered whether he was about to be the butt of some cruel joke, but when he rounded the corner of a dark street and saw Harry waiting for him, propped up against a wall, he struggled to contain a smile. 

Harry saw him and returned a nervous smile, waiting for him in the shadows. “Everyone’s alright?” he asked.

“No one is surprised that you’d get too drunk to apparate yourself home if that’s what you mean,” Draco said, closing the gap between them and pushing Harry back against the wall of the alley, leaning down to kiss him again. “And yours?” 

“She already left,” said Harry with a laugh that smelled faintly of fire whiskey and mint. “With some quidditch player or other I’m told.” 

“Damn,” said Draco, stepping back. 

“What is it?” asked Harry, letting go of where he’d been holding Draco’s side. 

“I hate when Angelica’s predictions are right” he said leaning back into the embrace, as Harry laughed. 

“Alright tell me where to take us” said Draco, twining his arms around Harry. But he no sooner said the words then there was a crack and the feeling of a jolt of magic as he was whisked away. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they’re off! We’re nearing the end of our story here as we reach the final card of the spread, and Harry has a lot of explaining to do if we have any hope of resolving some of these mysteries before it’s over. I had a lot of fun with the magic in this chapter, from hidden club entrances to recreational potions use. I also just love the idea of Draco being incredibly business savvy. I can’t imagine he would have been happy wandering around the halls of the Manor for very long, he’s much more suited to the cutthroat business life. 
> 
> Big shoutout again to my beta, Honeybeet, who spots all of my plot holes and grammar mistakes. H also supplied a few of the great names in this chapter like Flamel & Sons! Thank you for indulging my HP lore obsession :)
> 
> For the fastidious reader:  
> \- Felix felicis (aka Liquid Luck) was the potion Harry was awarded by Slughorn in HBP, which made him lucky for a full day, but also super happy and carefree. With those kinds of side effects, I figured a knockoff version, Felix asinus (fool’s luck), would be in high demand with the party crowd. Pepper Up Potion meanwhile is the cure for the common cold.  
> \- Being a squib, Mr Greenacre is the ideal financial consigliere for the Collective, as he inherently has knowledge of the Wizarding world while being only marginally governed by it. As we know from Mrs Figg's testimony in Order of the Phoenix, Squibs are not registered with the Ministry like full wizards are.  
> \- Flamel & Sons is a nod to famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel who is referenced in the Philosopher’s Stone. Logic follows that if Nick passed away around ‘92, his family might be open to an acquisition of the old alchemy business in the years that followed.  
> \- Yes, that’s an Umbridge quill :) couldn’t resist  
> \- Don’t drink and apparate, kids!


	7. The Knight of Wands (Part 2)

Draco’s feet hit solid ground with a thud as a dark sitting room swirled into view. No sooner had they arrived than there was a faint pop and a low flame ignited in a nearby fireplace, illuminating a few ornate looking armchairs and baroque patterned walls, covered with paintings and knick knacks that stirred slightly at their arrival.

He was still trying to take it all in when he remembered there was an extremely attractive wizard in his arms. The room was still swirling from the apparation and the fire whiskey, but he focused on the round frames and piercing eyes looking into his. Harry steadied him as they landed, strong arms keeping him upright. 

For a moment Draco even forgot to control his expression, and he had no clue what his face was doing as he wondered at his luck. How did he, disgraced pureblood and former death eater, wind up here, mid-snog, with the most desireable wizard of the decade (according to Witch Weekly). 

A smile flickered briefly at the corner of Harry’s mouth as well, and Draco couldn’t help himself and leaned in again. Pansy’s advice from earlier in the evening rang in his ears. But Harry chose the same moment to pull away.

“Sorry about that, I should have mentioned. My place is unplottable so I had to side-along you,” Harry said as he took a step away into the room and cast a quick tidying spell to move a few books off the chairs by the fire. 

“Don’t you know better than to drink and apparate, officer?” said Draco, weaving slightly as he followed Harry into the room.

“That’s the other reason I didn’t let you take us,” said Harry with a snort of laughter as he continued tidying, seemingly avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water?” 

“How exceedingly polite of you,” said Draco, closing the space between them again and pulling Harry closer by the waist. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger?” 

Harry went still as though he were deciding whether or not to let Draco come close, then leaned forwards slightly. Draco was a breath away when suddenly a loud, wheezing cough like the sound of a busted accordion falling off a shelf rang out in the room. 

“Master is home quite late,” said a creaking old voice from about knee height. 

Harry and Draco sprang apart and Draco’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, which appeared to be coming from a pile of dirty rags. Draco refocused his eyes and realised he was looking not at a pile of rags, but at a weathered looking house elf. The elf stepped into the light, clearing its throat loudly again and cocked it’s head in Harry’s direction, looking curiously between him and Draco. 

Draco meanwhile, was astonished this creature was even standing on it’s own two legs, it looked about as old as the house itself. His skin was like melted wax dripping off a candle, and wobbled slightly as he took another step in their direction.

“Kreacher! You startled me. Sorry about that, mate, I thought I mentioned I’d be out all night,” said Harry collecting himself and absently straightening his jacket as though he was in the company of a senior officer. “You don’t need to stay up for us, I can take care of my guest.”

The elf paused and swiveled his leathery head in Draco’s direction, his ears flapping audibly. “Master’s guest…” he began slowly, before flapping back to look at Harry with his beady eyes, “Is young Master Malfoy.” 

“Have we met?” Draco heard himself asking as though it were a perfectly normal conversation to be having with a geriatric house elf.

The house elf blinked its beady eyes at Draco and took another shuffling step towards him, his eyes narrowed. 

“Kreacher has met young Master Malfoy, yes,” said Kreacher definitively. Harry and Draco both waited, expecting Kreacher to say something further but he merely turned his head back to Harry and asked, “Would sirs like something to eat?”

“Er, no thanks, Kreacher, I think we might just have a drink. But don’t trouble yourself, I can get it.” 

“As master wishes,” said Kreacher, turning to shuffle off in the direction of a doorway. He could be heard muttering under his breath as he left, “‘Has Kreacher met?’ indeed. Kreacher does not forget. Dear master Regulus would object, Kreacher is certain, to see a dark one in this very house…”

“Sorry about that,” said Harry over Kreacher’s muttering as he left the room. “Kreacher is always trying to be helpful but he’s gone a bit nutty in his old age.”

“Nothing like an overly helpful house elf to spoil the mood,” drawled Draco, stepping closer to Harry again and running a hand down the lapel of his jacket. He wasn’t about to let that ruin his chances with Potter. “Now, where were we?”

“You tell me,” said Harry, with his familiar self-effacing smile and a light shrug. He held his ground but seemed cautious, like he wasn’t sure he was ready for what was coming next. 

Here was an expression Draco had not seen from him lately. The Potter that had so confidently brushed McLaggen aside a few weeks ago was now looking up at him uncertainly, waiting for him to make a move. Draco smiled to himself, happy to have the upper hand once more. 

He reached out and brushed a wayward lock of hair out of Harry’s face, exposing the telltale lightning bolt scar. Harry watched him apprehensively. By all public accounts, Harry had only dated the weaselette exclusively since school. Perhaps he was still grappling with what it meant to be standing here with another man, let alone a sworn enemy. That was fine by Draco. If he had to take the reins tonight, he’d be perfectly happy to do it. 

He leaned in and planted a firm, almost chaste kiss on Harry’s lips, which Harry was quick to return. He felt Harry’s hands come to rest on his waist, the fingers flexing nervously.  _ Better take this slow, _ he thought, taking in one last firewhisky scented breath before pulling back. 

Harry was definitely flushing now, and seemed to be looking around the room for something. “Drinks, I think? Yeah I’m sure I’ve got something. Let me just see…” he said, stepping out of Draco’s grasp and sending a small lumos to a few wall sconces that dotted the room.

Draco looked after Harry as he scurried out of the room into a dark hallway beyond. His mind was still lingering on the kiss and jumping ahead to plan what next steps he should take with someone who might be experiencing a few firsts tonight. Mostly he was just trying to keep his head on straight. Alone in the sitting room, he had a minute to take in his surroundings. He put his hands in his pockets and collected his thoughts. 

As he waited for Harry to return he slowly paced the room, and it dawned on him just how strange this setting was. The room was certainly quite old as the embossed wallpaper and floral patterned carpet had a Victorian aesthetic and looked like they hadn’t been cared for in about a century. The armchairs had similarly dated, and in places threadbare, upholstery and clawed wooden feet that seemed to be straining to hold them up. Along the walls were cabinets and shelves of odd shapes and sizes which seemed to contain a hodgepodge of dark artefacts and contemporary trinketry. 

However, laying on top of all this was evidence of recent inhabitation, in the form of ministry case files piled up on end tables and footstools. A few notepads with slanted handwriting lay strewn about, clustered with half drunk mugs of coffee and plates with biscuit crumbs. A set of auror robes hung from an open door frame and a few items of muggle clothing lay scattered about. 

“I’ve got gin or port,” called Harry from another room. “Or there’s something in here that Hagrid gave me last Christmas, but I think he brewed it himself out of fermented pumpkin.”

“I was planning on surviving this experience,” Draco said in the direction of the doorway. 

“Right, gin it is,” called Harry.

Draco smiled to himself and gazed across the other half of the room where his eye caught a wall full of paintings of dark featured wizards in oval frames. There was something familiar about them, and he stepped closer to inspect. 

“Quite the place you’ve got here,” he called. “Never would have picked you for a collector of antiques.” 

He could hear a faint laugh from the other room and the clink of glasses. “It was my godfather’s place. He left it to me when he died in the war.” 

Draco’s mind was moving sluggishly but those were a few pieces he could certainly put together. He scanned the portraits for a name plate and sure enough, his eyes landed on the name Arcturus Black, engraved under a profile portrait of a man in a stiff collar who was dosing quietly. 

“Ah, the noble house of Black,” he said, eyes scanning the remainder of the portraits until they landed on a picture of three young witches, arms linked. One had her face completely obscured by some sort of magic but the other two looked perfectly happy as they sat on a bench in their Hogwarts school uniforms. If Kreacher was a Black family house elf, he would have served Narcissa for many years.

“That’s right,” said Harry coming back through the doorway with two glasses in hand. “We used this place as a base during the war, and Dumbledore had it practically warded off the map. Molly Weasley came through one summer and threw out a bunch of the relics, but everything else is pretty much as it was. I just haven’t been bothered to do much else with it”

“That would explain the cursed vase you’ve got on the mantle,” said Draco, accepting the drink and nodding towards a black enamelware vessel embellished with a painting of a white lily. “We have the matching one at the manor.”

Harry shook his head lightly in amazement, “That’s right, I always forget your mother is a Black.” Draco’s eyes darted back to the picture of the small blonde witch in Slytherin robes but he did not point it out. 

“So,” said Draco, turning back to Harry. “Are you going to tell me why you brought me to an estranged second cousin stroke serial killer’s house in the middle of the night, or are you going to leave me guessing?” 

Harry went slightly red again and said, “Er—shall we?” He gestured awkwardly towards a pair of weathered armchairs.

Either Harry really was clueless about this sort of thing or he was imagining a different set of next steps than Draco was. In the ensuing silence Harry moved towards one of the chairs but Draco grabbed his wrist.

“Please tell me there’s another room where we can do this,” he said, with what he hoped was a tempting smile. “Only I try to avoid intimacy in front of portraits of my relatives,” 

Harry let out a long breath of air, clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder and steered him down into one of the armchairs. 

“I get the feeling I’m going to regret this,” Harry said almost to himself as he sat his drink on an end table and took his suit jacket off, tossing it over the back of the chair opposite and rolling up his shirt sleeves before taking a seat himself. 

A small, persistent voice in the back of Draco’s head started questioning why he had just left his fiancé and best friend at a party in order to come home alone with a wizard he’d just had an argument with and who was clearly hiding something, but he pushed it down. He wasn’t ready to start contingency planning just yet. 

Draco sat back in his chair and fixed Harry with a withering glare. “Alright, out with it. What are we doing here, Potter?” 

Harry seemed to be collecting his thoughts as he raked his hair back and then sat forward with his elbows propped up on his knees. 

“Look, Malfoy. I brought you back here because you’ve gotten a hold of some potentially very dangerous information and I can tell you won’t let it go until you have the whole story.”

“You brought me back … to talk?” said Draco slowly, hoping he was still misinterpreting the situation somehow

“I blame myself really, but now that you’re involved I think I’d better put it all out on the table so you know what you’re playing with. Hopefully I can convince you to stay out of the mess I’m already in.”

Draco’s heart sank as he realised his mistake. The kiss had just been a ruse, a way to make him come along without making more of a scene. He could feel his cold exterior going back up as he arranged his features into a neutral expression and twirled his glass slowly. “I see,” he said, icily. “Well that was a hell of a misdirection.”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “Hang on, this is separate,” he said, his tone taking an almost authoritative edge. “You can’t think I would...To get you here--I mean, you kissed  _ me” _

“I didn’t see you complaining,” said Draco, feeling the control of the situation slipping out of his grasp. 

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Draco beat him to it. “Right, my mistake. One more thing in your arsenal against me I suppose,” he said, coldly. Blackmail, that’s what it was. He was going to use the tip off from McLaggen to corner Draco into agreeing to his terms, otherwise spill the secret to Angelica. 

“No! Why do you—” Harry cut himself off with a groan, rubbing at his eyes under glasses and then jamming them back into place. He took a deep breath and continued, “Here, let me start over. The past few weeks, I’ve really enjoyed seeing you. It always felt like we had some unfinished business after school and when I saw you at the gala I just couldn’t get you off my mind. And somehow you’re all tangled up in my life again and I can’t tell if I’m furious at you for getting involved or… I don’t know. Really glad you did.”

“Let’s go with furious and call it a day, shall we?” said Draco, placing his drink down on the table.

“But now that you’re in it, it’s clear the only way you’ll listen to reason is to hear the whole story,” continued Harry earnestly. “Which puts me in a tough spot because the only thing that’s keeping me and my friends safe is the fact that it’s a secret. With anyone else it’d be simpler, but of course you’re too pigheaded to trust me just because I've asked you to.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Draco snapped back, sounding more angry than he wanted to let on. 

“You know, you don’t make it easy to help you!” said Harry, throwing a hand up in exasperation. “I’ve even tried to convince myself to leave you to your own devices but I can’t. I have to know that you’re not going to do something stupid that I could have prevented. And then tonight it all came together because of the bloody cards.”

Harry trailed off and Draco chanced a glance back at him, feeling a pit in his stomach as he took in Harry’s look of vexation. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he responded finally.

“Not sure why I bother,” said Harry with a huff of laughter. He took a determined drink out of his glass as if to fortify himself, and then fixed Draco with an unwavering stare. “When Angelica read my cards—Merlin this is stupid, but she said I’d be presented with a risk, and taking that risk would reveal an agent of change. Someone that I needed to help solve this whole mess I’m in.” 

Draco bit his tongue from lashing out with another insult about divinitory superstition, if only because he himself had bought into Angelica’s predictions of late. 

“Tonight when you kissed me, my gut told me it was the risk I was meant to take,” said Harry, steadier now. “I still have no idea what it all means, or how to make sense of it, but I think this was definitely meant to happen tonight. I can help you, and I think I need your help as well. I need to tell you about this case and I’m putting a lot of faith in you to keep this information close.” The colour had returned to his face and he’d regained some of his composure, but there was something about him that looked like a kid as he waited for Draco’s response. 

Draco wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn't even sure what to believe, after the emotional whiplash of the last hour. The logical voice was growing louder now, telling him to cut his losses and walk. He could come up with some story to cover his tracks with the others later if he needed to. But at the same time his heart was pounding. 

After a few moments of silence he nodded. “Well this has been illuminating,” he said, standing and straightening his jacket. “But unfortunately not worth my while.”

Harry jumped to his feet as well. “You won’t even hear me out?” 

“Can I apparate straight from here or will your wards tear me to shreds?” Draco asked drily. 

“Draco, please,” said Harry, grabbing his elbow. Draco started slightly at the sound of his own name. “Give me ten minutes. This could affect Angelica, or your mother even. Forget what I said about the kiss, I know you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for good intel at the very least.”

Bugger if Harry didn’t know exactly what buttons to push. If it was a matter of exchanging some small amount of pride for important information, that was an exchange he was all too willing to make. Besides, after this there would certainly be no showing his face in front of Potter ever again. 

He took a long breath and said, “Fine. You have until I finish my drink.” 

A wave of relief rushed over Harry’s features as he loosened his grip on Draco’s elbow. “Alright, fair,” he said, taking his seat and a swig out of his own glass. “And look, I’m sorry. I can’t say I was expecting to... er, well I wasn’t expecting any of this.” 

“Please. Pandering doesn’t suit you,” said Draco sitting back in the arm chair. “Why don’t you say what you need to say and we can wrap this up.”

Harry looked like he wanted to protest but resigned to steel himself before diving in to an explanation. “A couple years ago when I was finishing Auror training, I started getting really interested in the Wizengamot’s criminal records. I’d had a bad run in with the Council years ago over an underage magic dispute where I was examined without representation, and if Dumbledore hadn’t stepped in I would have probably been sentenced. This was under Fudge’s term.”

He paused and looked at Draco, who merely took a drink out of his glass in response. 

“Er right,” Harry continued hastily. “I never really questioned it because I thought justice had been served in the end, and I assumed the natural order of things was restored when the Ministry was rebuilt under Kingsley. But it always stuck with me that the Council had been willing to resort to such tactics over a trivial matter. So I started keeping my eyes open and right away I was seeing a few odd themes in my cases. An early release here, a harsher sentencing there, seemingly without reason but nothing egregious enough to cause flags. When I asked, I was basically told ‘that’s just the way it works.’”

“I’m sure you took that well,” said Draco, absently. 

“Yeah, you know me,’ said Harry with a hint of his crooked smile. “I started keeping notes on my cases. Keeping a record of how the sentencing shook out, and starting to look back on older cases as well. That’s when I ended up digging up the arrest and sentencing for my godfather, Sirius.” A dark cast fell over Harry’s eyes, the memory clearly pained him. 

“I’d known Sirius had been wrongfully convicted, but I guess I’d always assumed that somehow he’d still been given a fair go at trial. That somehow the courts must have been missing a piece of evidence, or one of Voldemort’s supporters lied to get him convicted. But the facts of the case were way worse than I thought,” said Harry with a breath of incredulous laughter. 

“You know they dragged him off the street after the muggle incident and detained him without disclosure of his rights, and then he sat trial at the Wizengamot with absolutely zero representation? It should have been a mistrial from the start, but they made it all the way to sentencing - life in Azkaban no less - in under 30 minutes.” 

Harry shook his head, as if angry at the memory and took another drink before continuing, “No witnesses called on his behalf. His testimony against Pettigrew was pretty much thrown out the door. They didn’t even check his wand for a  _ Priori Incantatem _ . There are about a hundred ways they could have proven that Sirius was not guilty, maybe even caught the real perpetrator if they were trying to. But no, they knew they wanted to nail him for something and they got him. It’s mad.” 

Draco could hardly hold back a scoff. “You’re serious? You were actually surprised to discover that the ministry is crooked?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, I knew they were flawed. But such blatant disregard for everything we had been taught, it was outrageous. And it was documented, the whole thing is on paper. I had just been instructed for years about how to uphold the laws of the ministry, and here was blatant evidence of it dashed to pieces. You don’t find that appalling?” 

Draco shrugged, “I find it commonplace in our world, unfortunately,” he said. “Why do you think my father spent all his time cultivating the right connections? It’s because he knew his fate would always be in the hands of those in power. Everyone knows that. It’s just up to us which side to back.” 

Harry took a deep breath, turning the tumbler slowly in his hand as if the clear liquid contained some of the answers he was looking for. “Well, I couldn’t stand by it. Sirius died under the black mark of the ministry, and I knew I needed to clear his name. So I started an investigation into the matter. And it was not well received.”

“Obviously,” muttered Draco.

“At first I just started prying here and there, but it became clear quite quickly that the whole thing had been sanctioned by the leaders of the ministry at the time, including a few folks who were still in power and wanted to keep this as under wraps as possible.”

“Can’t imagine that deterred you.”

“So of course I kept pushing it up the chain.”

“Of course you did.” 

“I even considered taking it to the Prophet directly but once I started making enough noise about it internally, Robards, the old head of the Auror Department, was quick to sanction it as an internal inquiry, which meant that it couldn’t be discussed outside of the Ministry.” 

“Like that’s ever stopped the Prophet before.”

“Right?” said Harry sitting forward in his chair, a spark of indignation returning to his eye. “That’s what I thought, but it wasn’t till later that I’d find out how far in the pocket of the ministry the Prophet actually is.” 

Draco was doing his best to appear uninterested, but the determination and fervor with which Harry was describing the case kept him glued to his seat. He quickly eyed his drink, he could probably drag this out for a while.

“So within the boundaries of the internal inquiry, I compiled the case. About six months in, I started seeing more and more evidence of gross misconduct, especially when it came to the treatment of Death Eaters and known associates. Often getting life terms in prison or falling off the map, likely due to undocumented capital punishment or Merlin knows what else.”

Harry paused and took another drink from his glass, shaking his head and staring into the fire as though dislodging a memory. “Do you remember Barty Crouch?” 

“The old head of magical law enforcement?” asked Draco.

“No Barty Crouch junior,” said Harry, getting up to walk over to the fireplace and lean against the mantle, staring into the enchanted flames.

“Sure, he was a Death Eater who escaped Azkaban and impersonated Mad-Eye Moody during fourth year. He tried to kill his father or something didn’t he?” 

“He wasn’t even a Death Eater when they put him away the first time. He was just a teenager who got mixed up with a bad lot. A victim of association and circumstance, and a tool the ministry used to keep Barty Crouch Senior in line. He turned to Voldemort’s cause in prison when all hope had left him, and the constant torture at the hands of the dementors sucked the last bits of humanity out of him.” 

This story had a haunting ring of familiarity which left an unpleasant taste in Draco’s mouth. He’d never really stopped to consider how many others there had been like him; radicalised at a young age, used as leverage against a powerful parent, forced to take the Mark as the only way out of an already bad situation. In another world, perhaps one without Potter’s testimony, Azkaban would have been his own fate. Not like he’d ever admit it out loud.

“So you’re saying he was justified in all the horrible things he did in fourth year? Unforgivable curses, impersonating an auror, transfiguring students without consent…” He shuddered at the memory. 

“That one was definitely justified,” said Harry, cracking a smile in spite of himself.

“Unbelievable, taking sides with a criminal over a child,” said Draco, shaking his head in mock reprimand. 

“He wasn’t the only teacher that wanted to turn you into a ferret I’m sure,” said Harry, with a look of something like fondness. “But no, I’m not saying he was guiltless. Only that he was a kid who made a tragic mistake that he never got a chance to learn from. Whatever kind of monster he became was something that the system was determined to make him. And no matter how heinous the crime, he deserved the right to a trial. He didn’t deserve what he got in the end.”

Harry's brows furrowed and he looked away, back into the crackling flames. “Do you know what they did when they finally had him in custody, in the middle of Hogwarts no less?” He continued, his voice full of disdain. 

“I’ve heard the rumours,” said Draco with a slow nod.

“They fucking delivered a dementors kiss in the middle of the castle, in the middle of a crisis. No trial, no protection, no shot at justice or redemption or any of that.” Harry was now clenching his fists hard on the edge of the mantle. Draco thought it would have snapped off if it wasn’t certainly some sort of marble. “And who was there overseeing the entire thing, but the minister for magic himself, Cornelius Fudge. I’d bet anything he gave the order. So I started compiling more cases like Crouch and Sirius, with plans to pressure a reform of the justice system” 

“Hm. And what did the other two thirds of the golden trio have to say about that?” asked Draco. 

“They agreed, at first,” said Harry, shaking his head absently. “Hermione was massively politically active after school, she said it was our duty to use our platform of influence after the war. She led a huge campaign to have Dementors removed from Azkaban -- said it was less humane than Muggle forms of punishment. That got their attention. And Ron was with me on the force, he saw all the same stuff I did. They couldn’t have been more supportive.”

Draco momentarily thought about bringing up the weaselette when Harry spun around from the fireplace and walked over to a bookshelf. “Actually, it was Hermione’s idea to get Hagrid involved in the first place.” 

“Hagrid? You can’t tell me he had a platform after the war,” said Draco. He could hear Harry rifling through stacks of papers on the bookshelf behind him.

“No, but he was a witness,” said Harry, as he dropped a large file into Draco’s lap and plopped down on a footstool next to him. Harry leaned over the arm of the chair to flip open the first few pages of the file. The firelight cast a glossy sheen on his dark hair and his scarred hands moved knowingly across the pages. Draco willed his stupid heart to beat normally.

“See here?” Harry said finally, jabbing the page. “In ‘93 Hagrid was arrested without cause on the grounds of Hogwarts and taken away to Azkaban.”

Draco scanned the page. “This says he was arrested for endangerment of life by neglect.”

“Yeah, they claimed he opened the Chamber of Secrets, which we all know wasn’t the case,” said Harry dismissively. “And besides, they should have taken him to holding to stand trial before sentencing.”

“It says sentencing was locked in for recidivism, repeating the same crime he’d been sentenced for before.”

“Which is preposterous because he didn’t commit the crime in the first place. It was Voldemort who opened the Chamber the first time in the 70s. By rights, Hagrid shouldn’t have even been expelled, and he has to suffer for having an incomplete magical education for the rest of his life.”

“Come on, you can’t tell me he was innocent. Hagrid nearly lost the lives of half a dozen students that first year he was teaching,” said Draco flipping through the rest of the pages of Hagrid’s file.

“Look, I know you never liked him, but I’m not asking you to empathise. Hagrid was a logical choice for key witness against the ministry's offenses in that era; He was used as a pawn for Fudge and his lot to try and de-seat Dumbledore. It happened again when Umbridge was in charge, or don’t you remember that notable arrest attempt.”

“Get to the point, Potter,” said Draco, taking another drink from his glass for emphasis.

“My point is, the ministry was blatantly controlling the outcome of the Wizengamot, flouting laws, and overstepping their bounds by sanctioning investigations into Hogwarts matters in the first place. Hermione’s idea was that if we could get Hagrid to testify against the council, we could unlock the whole thing from being an internal ministry affair and get some real visibility for the case.”

“Let me guess, Hagrid wasn’t interested.” Of course he wouldn’t be. Draco knew full well that anyone who’d been to Azkaban would do anything they could to never return there. 

“He outright refused,” said Harry, rising to pace around the room. “We were shocked, Hagrid had always been a champion of doing the right thing, but he kept talking himself out of this one. I honestly think he was scared.”

“Hm maybe he was smarter than I gave him credit for,” said Draco, flipping the folder shut.

“And he was right to be, because the ministry started coming after us then.” Harry paced back and forth at the edge of the fireplace glow, looking lost in his own thought. “They came for Ron first. One day he started urging me to let the whole thing go. I shrugged it off at first but he got pretty frantic about it. When we stopped getting booked on cases together he finally told me they’d given him a choice; if he couldn’t convince me to drop the thing, he had to choose; me or his career." 

“So much for loyalty,” said Draco, but Harry wheeled on him. 

“You can be a real prick, you know that? Ron was about to start a family-- he was trying to look out for the people closest to him, including me.” 

“Yeah, Granger’s always struck me as the type to need looking out for,” said Draco with an eye roll. “What did she have to say about it?”

“Well when we couldn’t make a case of it, I had to keep it as an internal investigation. They put further sanctions on me that I couldn’t speak about it externally and continue to get booked on cases. But I knew I had to stay active if I wanted a chance of this getting heard. I wanted to play the Ministry’s game to see the thing through to the end, but Hermione thought it was an obstruction of justice. She wanted to leak it to the Prophet and see if we could put some pressure on it. We had a huge fight but she went for it anyway. I told her by then it wouldn't make a difference because--”

“Because the Ministry owns the Prophet.” 

“Exactly. Instead of getting visibility for the case, they went on a smear campaign against us. I’ve been through the ringer enough not to be bothered by it anymore, but it can be rough. They’re everywhere and they have no qualms in reporting anything they want. People love to hear about a train wreck.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent half my adult life dodging the Prophet,” said Draco taking another sip of his drink. It was alarmingly close to being empty, and Draco made a note to slow down enough to get to the crux of the story.

“You and me both,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I reckon they thought that’d be enough to deter Hermione but they underestimated her. It wasn’t until she was told they were closing the search for her parents that she dropped the thing altogether. They’ve been missing in Australia for almost a decade, but the international affairs department finally shelved it. I’ve never seen her more broken than when she received that owl.” 

That was concerning. The ministry had been known to resort to dirty tactics, but to shut down an international investigation was serious. Whatever Potter was on to, it was clear that someone powerful wanted it to stay a secret. 

“Dare I ask about a certain red-headed witch?” Draco asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“Oh fuck, Ginny,” said Harry coming back to flop down in his armchair, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Ginny and I were living together at the time. She had been on the Harpies reserve team for a few years before deciding to call it quits professionally and move on to management. Before everything was going down with the Ministry we were… happy.” Harry looked off into the distance as he said this, sounding not at all convinced. “I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but we were doing well. We were good together. I think.” 

Harry paused, but Draco wasn’t about to push his luck discussing matters of the heart at this stage. 

“She supported me on the case as well. Up to a point. The breaking point for Gin was when they terminated her role within the department of magical games and sports.” Harry reached out and plucked his glass from earlier off the table, turning it in the light before downing it. He fumbled in his pocket for his wand, accio-ing the bottle of port from the next room. It zoomed into his hand and he popped open the cork, pouring the tawny liquid into his glass. “They cited fraudulent behaviour, so no other team would pick her up after that. It was a lie of course, but they held all the cards. She was devastated.” 

Harry took a drink from his newly full glass and sat back in his chair, fixing Draco with an indiscernible expression. It was like the light had gone out in his eyes. 

“It was never the same for us after that. She asked me once why I couldn’t just let it go. Was it really about exonerating Sirius after all these years, or was it more about being right? But I didn’t see it as either of those things. To me it was justice. What good is it winning a war over the darkest wizard of our time if we’re just going to sit around and let corruption and evil exist in his wake?”

“You’ll go mad thinking like that,” Draco heard the words coming out of his mouth as Harry's attention snapped in his direction again. “I mean, what Ginny was saying was that there’s no way for you to win this thing on your own. You’re only setting yourself up for defeat.” 

“And I suppose you know how to win at it?” said Harry in a scathing tone.

“There is no winning, you idiot. The best that can be achieved is balance. The good with the bad.”

Harry laughed a short, cold laugh. “Trust me, I’ve seen too much of humanity not to know that. But the balance has been lost for our kind, can’t you feel it? The government, the courts, the press, those institutions are the guardians of balance and the scales are slipping. And it’s no accident, someone is controlling this behind the scenes. Maybe they picked up the mantle opportunistically after the war, or maybe this whole thing has been part of a much longer plan”

“Look, Potter. I love a conspiracy theory as much as the next guy, but where is this going? I’ve never even pretended to be on your side, so how does this pose any risk to me?”

Harry smiled resignedly. “After the fallout, I thought about giving the case up for good. I’d amassed a mountain of paperwork for my cause and I could leave it for someone else to solve who had less to lose. But every day I saw new cases coming in with unjust sentences and I couldn’t sleep with it. I didn’t have the support of my friends but I could still do this one thing on my own. It was fine if they weren’t working with me, as long as they weren't working against me. That’s what I thought anyway until the Calderone case.”

Harry started unbuttoning his shirt and Draco gripped the arm of his chair reflexively. As he got to the buttons about halfway down his chest, Draco could see the beginning lines of pink scarring in a starburst pattern coming from his left side. 

“I was tracking down some lowlife thugs connected to a dark artefacts ring dealing in class B non-tradable substances. Totally run of the mill stuff, only these guys were connected to Andre Calderone, an organised crime leader known as the Architect. The department wanted me to arrest, but I knew that if I could lure them out and get evidence on the ring, or even flip one of them as a witness against Calderone, that would be more valuable than putting away a hundred guys like this. 

“I had planned a stakeout on one on their usual spots, with my partner at the time, Pfeiffer. I told Ginny where I was heading, and Ron and Hermione were over for dinner, but it was nothing they hadn’t heard before. No one else from work knew where I was planning to be that night, we didn’t log it in any of our department papers—I didn’t even tell Robards, who I trusted at the time.

“When we got to the stakeout we were ambushed. They knew exactly when we were coming. Instead of the thugs I was expecting to find, there were two of Calderone’s top deputies and half a dozen other mid-tier lackeys. No sooner did we arrive than we were hit with a full on reducto.”

Harry pulled back his open shirt to reveal an enormous spiderweb of scarring down his left side from shoulder to hip. Draco had known what was coming from Libby’s account earlier in the night, but seeing it first hand was jarring. It was hard to believe a person could survive an injury of that size.

“It only clipped me but it took me down hard. I was losing blood fast and somehow they’d warded the area so I couldn’t apparate out. Thank Merlin the reducto hit the wall and sent rock flying, which provided cover for me to slip under a disillusionment charm until I could get out of range. Once they realised I was missing Calderone’s crew lost it, they were shooting off reductos and killing curses in every direction. Completely unusual behaviour for a gang of this magnitude, they normally want to bargain. I’m positive someone intended for me to die that night.”

“The betrayal,” muttered Draco. “You think someone gave you up?”

“I just don’t know what to believe. I can’t imagine but… Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were the only ones who knew where we would be.”

“What about this Pfeiffer character? Do you trust him?” 

“There’s no way he knew this was coming,” said Harry resolutely. 

“Surely you could find out. Legilimency or—“

“He’s dead,” said Harry plainly. “He was killed on the spot. Took the brunt of the curse.”

The two fell silent. Only the quiet rustling of dozing portraits could be heard.

“Whoever it was, the message was clear. Either I’d been betrayed by someone closest to me or someone wanted me to believe I had been. It wasn’t just about losing a job anymore, it was a serious threat.”

A crackle of magic passed through the air, the enchanted flames leapt slightly in the fireplace and a few objects rolled around on their shelves. Harry shifted in his seat, putting an elbow up on the arm of the chair and leaning down to rub a hand over his brow. He somehow looked darker, more imposing from his seat across the low table, and Draco was reminded how powerful a wizard Harry was. But here, in this dark room, with none of his jolly group of friends to surround him, he was also completely alone. 

He could sympathise with Harry’s position. Hell, he was probably one of the few in the world who could picture as clearly what Harry must be going through. Powerful yet alone, surrounded by forces of dark magic trying to drag him down. Unable to look at anyone, even the people in his inner circle, without suspicion. 

Perhaps another person in Draco’s position would have thought Harry would appreciate a kind gesture in this monument, some words of comfort or other such dither. But Draco knew that if Harry was anything like himself, the only relief would come from action. 

“You think Calderone’s behind it? The failings of the Ministry and all that?”

“No, he’s just another symptom,” said Harry, his attention coming back to the present. He started buttoning his shirt up absently.

“It couldn’t be,” Draco agreed. “Sterling then? He seems to be controlling a few strings behind the scenes.”

“I thought so too at first, or at least that he was installed by someone in the know, but I think he’s in the dark. If anything he’s more principled than Robards, so he keeps digging in the same areas that I was. Unfortunately for me, he’d prefer to play things slow and steady, and think he was tired of the attention my presence was bringing to the department.”

“So the Architect and the Head Auror are out. Who else is left to fuel your little conspiracy?”

“It’s got to be someone influential in the ministry. Once I figured out that I wasn’t going to get any farther investigating this from my position on the force, I knew I had to leave. There were targets painted on the backs of everyone I loved, so I had to distance myself from them as well. I knew whoever had done this wanted me to believe I’d been betrayed, so I had to act like I was. I cut ties with everyone, left the force, and started on a downward spiral—by appearances at any rate.”

“That would explain Libby,” said Draco, suppressing an eye roll.

“Libby was perfect. She was connected to the right party crowd as well as the Prophet. I could play the spoiled brat that the press always wanted me to be; some child star who’d fizzled out and resorted to throwing away money on drugs and other frivolities. And nothing sells more papers than a fallen hero, as I’d already learned.”

“Getting the Prophet to work for you for once,” said Draco with a smirk, “Not bad.”

“I think it’s working, if Molly’s frantic Owls are anything to go by. It kills me to do this to them, but from the outside I have to play it convincingly that I’m on the down and out. It’s the only way I can keep any suspicion off the others while carrying on my investigation. That’s why no one can know.”

“Hm, so the only way to protect them is to abandon them. That’s noble, but an unfortunate irony,” said Draco as he put the pieces together. “I take it the termination from the force was your idea as well?”

“More or less,” said Harry with a mischievous glint returning to his eye. “You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to get fired, but I’ve still got some confiscated evidence in the house to prove it.” 

“One can only imagine,” said Draco, feeling his lip curl against his will.

“But let’s not get off track, I’ve only got till the end of your drink, right?” said Harry gesturing to the glass in Draco’s hand, which he now realised had about a drop left. “Unless I can convince you to stay for one more?” 

Harry held up the bottle from the table and cocked an eyebrow. “It's an excellent port.”

“As if you know the first thing about port,” Draco tossed back casually, grateful for the excuse to stay and hear the story out. He shrugged off his own jacket finally, knocked back the last of his gin and placed the tumbler on the table. “Go on then.” 

Harry smiled and poured a glass. 

“Don’t look so smug about it,” said Draco, “I’m still waiting to hear how this all matters to me.” 

“Well it had nothing to do with you until you showed up at the blasted ministry event,” said Harry leaning across the table to hand over the full tumbler. With his shirt still partly undone, Draco could still make out the fractaled edges of scarring on his left side. 

“If you’re about to tell me you targeted me to play a role in your spiral into darkness-” began Draco, eyes narrowed.

Harry laughed. “I should have, shouldn’t I,” he said sitting back and regarding Draco with mirth. “No, it was Angelica actually. DuPont to be more precise—I recognised the name immediately but I had to look through my old case records to see where it was from.”

“Yes, I’ve looked into their records as well. There’s some questionable investments to be sure, but no strong political ties I can assure you. Nothing that would position the DuPonts in any power within the Ministry.”

“Not in the Ministry, no. But they were caught up in some strange overseas trade deals years ago. So much so that they’re on a list of known Voldemort affiliates that the Ministry maintains, where I’d seen the name.”

“Trading with supporters of the Dark Lord?” asked Draco. This was news; he thought he’d looked through every record connected to the family. And if Edgar already had trade lines open with the UK, what was he using Draco for? 

“That’s just it - they traded on both sides,” said Harry, rising again to rifle through stacks of parchments on a nearby settee. “The Ministry documentation from those days is spotty at best, so at first I couldn’t make out what they were trading at all, but I got the idea when Edgar was telling us about the family origins: Pharmaceuticals and gunpowder.” 

“Something tells me that’s not as benign as floo powder,” said Draco, turning in his seat to watch as Harry moved from pile to pile, ruffling through pages of notes. “Really Potter, only you would have a personal house elf and refuse to let him organise the place.”

“It’s in a system!” insisted Harry, as he finally dislodged a short stack of parchment, which sent another pile tumbling over. Harry began flipping through the file, apparently oblivious to the mess. 

“Honestly,” said Draco under his breath, rising to cast a quick tidying charm to gather the teetering pile again. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry, who placed the file in his arms.

“And you’re right, it’s not good news. Gunpowder is an old compound used in muggle weaponry. From what I’ve seen, once someone has entered the weapons trade it’s very unusual for them to leave. It’s extremely lucrative, and it sells in times of peace and times of war alike.”

Draco skimmed the file, which enclosed a few old photographs of a younger, less bald Edgar DuPont in a suit, stepping out of muggle vehicles, and dining with other individuals identified by name in the margins. It was clearly an old criminal profile compiled years ago. Draco turned the page of the dossier, landing on a write up from the investigating Auror outlining the types of weaponry DuPont had been shopping around which included small scale explosives and something else of a chemical nature marked as ‘inconclusive.’ 

“Seems like Eddie has been more than happy to carry on the family business,” said Harry, sounding weathered. “He did deals on both sides of the fence, which is exactly why the U.S. auror department kept an eye on him, because he’s a wild card. He doesn’t play sides, he plays for cash.”

Draco couldn't deny it, he’d heard the same sentiment in as many words from DuPont himself. Only, he was suddenly feeling sick at the thought that he could have ever found the prospect impressive. 

“This is why you accepted Angelica’s invitation to golf,” said Draco slowly. “To get closer to DuPont.” 

“Er, yeah,” said Harry, taking a small step away. “I was hoping this was all a thing of the past, but after chatting with him the other week it sounds like he has big plans for the expansion, and I can’t imagine he’s going to stop at muggle dittanys, no matter how well they sell.”

So Potter was trying to help him after all. If DuPont did intend to bring all lines of business overseas, there’s no reason to expect that he would stop with Pharma. In fact, he’d already shown himself to be a man who didn’t care for the wellbeing of his customers, he probably justified the trade as a good money making opportunity. And if he was going to get into the right circles, then leveraging Lucius’s connections would be the next step. It would be as simple as getting Draco on his side, which he’d effectively done by offering the marriage in return for Draco taking his father’s place in the collective. For the first time, Draco had the sinking feeling of being completely had. 

“He knows I’ve got the connections he needs to channel his exports into criminal factions here,” muttered Draco. Nothing cleared a whiskey haze like sheer panic. His mind creaked into gear with contingency planning, but all signs pointed to being too late to back out of the deal now.

“Which is exactly why I think you should stay out of it,” said Harry earnestly. The optimistic idiot actually thought he could still be protected. “I know you’re determined to marry Angelica for whatever weird pureblood reasons you have, and she seems great, but Edgar is bad news. The last thing I want is to see your name in this file and have the department harassing you again.”

Draco couldn’t help himself and let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, tossing the dossier back on the pile and running a shaky hand through his hair.

“I mean it,” Harry insisted. “You’ve been virtually cleared after all this time, and I can make sure to scrub your file when I leave. I’m pretty sure that Angelica has no idea that—”

Draco laughed harder. “It’s too late,” he said. Putting on a practiced expression of serene control. “I’m already in.” 

“He can’t hold you to a verbal offer acceptance, can he?” 

“Not the job, the deal. I went to my father’s associates, I countersigned the deal in his place. It’s a blood oath,” said Draco. Harry went still. “Which means I’m bound to fulfil the terms of the original arrangement. I will be taking over the expansion of the business, and I will become Edgar’s successor.”

“Fuck,” said Harry, pacing slightly as he thought. “I knew I should have warned you earlier.” 

“How long have you known?”

“I wasn’t certain until recently but I’ve been suspicious since before Scotland. I wanted to tell you then but I didn’t know whether I could trust you, and you can be such an arse. You seemed so determined to figure it out for yourself I was sure you’d come to the same conclusion.”

“You should be used to my disappointing you by now,” said Draco, suppressing the memory of the conversation they’d had under the painting of the fox chase. The feeling of finally being able to confide in someone. 

“Unless…” Harry  froze, and slowly turned to rest his forearm on the mantelpiece, his head bowed. He was silent long enough for Draco to be nearly overwhelmed by the whirring of his own thoughts. Then—

"You could help me." Harry said quietly.

“Come again?”

Harry turned to face him. "What if you helped me? From the inside?"

"I’m sure I’m mishearing. Are you asking me to fight crime with you? I need a record of this—do you have a quill anywhere in that mess?" Draco gestured towards the pile of papers still in disarray on the floor. 

“No, listen,” said Harry, stepping closer. “No one knows I’m still working on this. You can help me investigate Calderone’s links from the inside. I need an ally, you’ve got backchannels into the ministry as well as the perfect vantage point to press deeper into Calderone’s network without raising too many flags. Plus as you already said, no one would ever suspect us of working together”

Draco scoffed. “Why would I risk my neck?”

“I can offer you protection. If we crack this thing, I’ll make sure you and Angelica are cleared for your involvement. We topple Calderone and his associates and maybe we can get you out of this blood oath as well. You can finally step outside of the shadow cast by the war.”

“I have no interest in playing the hero,” said Draco. “And you forget that this business is about to make me exceedingly wealthy. I’ll have my place in the hierarchy again and everything will be as it should.”

“Say what you want, Malfoy,” said Harry with a shrug. “But I think you genuinely believe in doing what’s right. You were halfway out the door on the pharmaceutical company on principle alone. It’s not all about family name and all that. If we can crack who’s behind this and turn the Ministry around, your name will stand for something besides power.”

Draco cast a fleeting glance at the picture of the three girls on the wall, laughing with each other in their school uniforms. 

“Worst case scenario, nothing comes of it. You maintain a cover of being Edgar’s protege, and I stay a washed up mess. If it ever gets too risky, we go our separate ways. What have you got to lose?”

Harry locked eyes with him squarely, his brow furrowed in a determined sort of way. 

Draco stared back at him, considering. 

On one hand he could walk here and now; carry on with his life as planned, and he and Angelica could live out a life very much like his parents' lives. On the other hand, he and Potter team up on some harebrained scheme to draw evil out of the ministry itself. Risky? Surely. But there was serious reward if they could pull this off. And something was drawing him to Potter that he didn’t want to ignore. The green eyes scanned his face, waiting for his response. 

“My father,” Draco said finally.

“What about him?” said Harry.

“If we crack this thing, I want his case examined for malpractice by the wizengamot.” 

Harry hesitated slightly at this. “We can definitely include Lucius’s case with the others, but I can’t guarantee anything will come of it. I can’t promise a release from Azkaban.”

“That’s called hedging, Potter,” 

“It’s called honesty,” said Harry with a laugh. “And it’s how I expect us to work together if you agree to this thing with me.” 

Harry held out his hand for a shake. 

“So you play the imbecile, and I play the deviant, and good triumphs over evil in the end?” mused Draco, eyeing Harry’s outstretched hand.

“It’ll be just like old times,” said Harry with a wide grin. 

Draco accepted the hand with a shake, and warm fingers closed around his. “Heavens, what will Granger say?”

“She can’t know,” Harry replied, dropping his grip. “No one can know for now. Let’s just go about our lives as usual and plan to reconnect in a few weeks time. I’ll contact you by owl at the manor.”

“Alright,” said Draco, turning back to the fireplace to pick up his jacket off the chair, before reaching down to finish his port. “I should go, Angelica will notice I’m gone by now. Shall I apparate or--”

“Before you go,” said Harry, suddenly sounding sheepish. “Should we talk about the kiss?” 

The memory of the moment on the balcony came back in a rush. The wind whipping around them, the lights of London, the distant sound of music, a strong hand pulling him close. 

“No,” he said, in a controlled voice. “Let’s forget about it.” 

“I’m afraid I can't,” said Harry with a crooked smile.

“Another day then,” said Draco, with more control than he thought he was capable of at this hour. 

Harry nodded with a tight smile. “Floo is probably best, there’s a stop for the hotel.” 

“Thanks for the port,” said Draco, placing his glass back down. “You were right, it was quite good.” 

And with a final glance at Harry, he stepped into the fireplace. In the last moments before green flames roared up around him, he could have sworn he saw Harry’s smile fall. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the cat is well and truly out of the bag now. What do you guys think of Harry’s reveal? Poor Draco definitely thought he was in for a different sort of night, but I wanted to make sure Harry finally got to tell him what was going on so these two can start to trust each other. 
> 
> From the beginning of this story, I knew that I wanted Harry on a campaign of vigilante justice against the Ministry, which always seemed irreparably crooked in the books. I can’t imagine the wizarding world’s political system would have fared well in the post-war vacuum of power either, even though we’re led to believe that Harry simply becomes a cop and all is well. So instead, I wanted Harry to be a little older, maybe a little more jaded, but no less determined to save the world. The only difference is this time he’s got Draco, who can add a bit of polish to the whole affair. 
> 
> We’ve got one more chapter to go and I’m excited to give a bit more colour to a character you might not be expecting. Thanks again to everyone who’s read along this far and planning to stick it out with us. 
> 
> And above all - massive thanks to my beta, Honeybeet, without whom none of this would make any sense. Who else has a beta as good as mine, who will weigh up the relative merits and faults of Barty Crouch Jr’s underage sentencing late into the night? No one, that’s who. Seriously so lucky to have you as my banter coach, kiss consultant, and checker of obscure lore minutiae. You’re the best, H! 
> 
> For the fastidious reader:  
> \- Kreacher did indeed meet Draco on at least a few occasions. Besides any Black family gatherings that may have happened in his early years, Draco was most likely present when Kreacher betrayed Sirius by revealing Order secrets to Lucius at the Manor. Harry also put him to work spying on Draco for him in 5th year when he worked at Hogwarts.  
> \- 12 Grimmauld Place (Including Kreacher) was left to Harry by Sirius in his will. However if he had not bequeathed it to his godson, by lineage it would have fallen to the next in the Black family line which was actually Draco.   
> \- Harry, Sirius, Barty Crouch Jr, and Hagrid all had pretty shoddy treatment at the hands of the Wizengamot, though true guilt/innocence in the case of Barty at least is unclear. Barty was accused of participation in the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, and while he pled innocent in Dumbledore’s pensive memory, we never hear his testimony as a reader. He was a teenager at the time, whereas his compatriots the Lestranges had about 10 years on him which may leave room for reasonable doubt. Honeybeet and I chalked this one up as inconclusive.


	8. The Second Spread

Draco hardly noticed the surprised look on the face of the late night front desk attendant at the Langham, as he made his way from the floo corridor to the lifts at Merlin only knew what hour in the morning. His steps echoed off the tiled floor, just like they did in the corridors at the manor, reminding him very much of home. 

Of all the insanity of the last few weeks, at least there were a few victories worth celebrating -- the manor would remain his home. Mother would be provided for. Even father might yet get his shot at redemption. Only time would tell whether the outcome was worth the price. 

In his tired haze he nearly missed the turn for the lifts, infernal muggle contraptions though they were. Only a few more minutes and he could finally put this day behind him and get some sleep. The problems of following through on the deal with the Collective, establishing a dubious shell company, and investigating someone quite dangerous who was controlling the Ministry would all have to wait till tomorrow. 

The only potential hurdle remaining between him and a deep sleep was a certain bubbly blonde. As he stepped into the lift, he silently prayed that Angelica would be out cold so he could spend the rest of the night in relative peace. 

She must be, given the shape she was in the last time he saw her. Hopefully she’d had the time of her life dancing at Aparecium and mingling with all the fashionable socialites and had simply tired herself out. With any luck, Pansy had played her role perfectly and put Angelica straight to bed for him. 

Tomorrow he would simply tell her that Harry had been plastered, and he’d stuck around to make sure he was alright. It was a good enough lie and he could finesse it in the morning. Not like needed to lie - Nothing had even happened with Potter in the end, much to his chagrin. He suppressed the memory of Potter avoiding his attentions, as a new wave of embarrassment rose in him, and opened the door to his room quietly. 

Angelica was awake, propped up on the bed in a fluffy white hotel robe, reading a muggle magazine by the low light of the lamp on the nightstand and eating a piece of cake off of a nearby room service trolly. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders and her eyes snapped up as he entered, quickly softening into a tipsy smile. 

“Draco! I was wondering when you’d be back,” she said, placing the cake on the end table and hopping off the side of the bed. 

Damn, just his luck. Looked like he’d have to make early use of the cover story after all. He sucked it up and put on a placating expression. 

“Sorry darling, Potter was in an absolute state. You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he said, in a soothing tone. 

“That’s alright, we only got back a little bit ago. We stayed until the final band finished, it was incredible,” she said, flicking her long hair off her shoulders as she approached and twining her arms around his neck. “Is Harry alright?” 

“He’ll be fine,” said Draco, planting a quick peck on her cheek. Best to change the subject. “Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“I’ve had the best time,” Angelica gushed, wavering slightly on her feet. “But I’ve been waiting for you to get back. The night wasn’t complete without you.” She blinked slowly. 

“Well I’m back now, aren’t I? Dying for some sleep actually,” said Draco, steering her towards the bed.

“I don’t want to,” said Angelica with a pout. “I’ve been waiting all night to spend a little quality time with my fiancé.” 

Her small hands slid under the lapels of his jacket and slipped it off over his shoulders. He’d have to act quickly if he was going to get out of this. 

She was working down the buttons of his shirt, a drunk smile playing at the corner of her lips as she rubbed a hand against his chest 

“Dearest,” he said, catching her by the wrist. “Why don’t we do this another night when we haven’t drunk half the whiskey in London.” 

Angelica raised her eyebrows at him and then spun away to lean temptingly on the bed. 

“Are you really going to say no to this?” she said, slowly untying the fluffy robe and shrugging it off her shoulders to reveal a matching lacy black bra and panty set. 

“Dear Merlin,” Draco said before he could stop himself. 

“That’s what I thought,” said Angelica tossing her head and beckoning him close. 

Fuck. The wheels of Dracos brain were spinning at full tilt but he wasn’t sure if there was any way to get out of this one. He was so close to having everything in place, he would just have to man up and seal the deal tonight. That was, if he even could. Difficult as it would have been with Angelica on a good day, he was in a particular state today. 

He followed her to the bed, plastering on a smile. 

“Alone at last,” he said in his best attempt at a calm voice. 

As he approached, she grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and tugged him towards her, planting a big kiss on his mouth. She smelled like floral lotion and vanilla cake, and the kiss immediately paled in comparison to Potter who’d smelled of whiskey and mint. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, although she had some kind of syrupy lip gloss on that made their lips stick together too long, but her cheek was soft and her hands trailed playfully around his neck. 

He ran his hands down her sides, landing on her waist and was struck by how small she was. Compared to Potter’s strong frame, she felt light and frail, like a little bird. She tugged him into a sitting position in the edge of the bed where she straddled him, letting the open robe slip off her shoulders. 

“I’ve been so looking forward to this,” she said with a hint of laughter to her voice. “Since the day I first saw you.” 

“So have I,” Draco lied without missing a beat. He ran his hands up to unhook her bra, trying to keep as much attention off of himself as possible. 

“Wait,” she said, putting a firm hand on his arm, and then pulling back a few inches to look into his eyes. “I like to be in control.” 

Draco paused for a moment, processing what she’d said, and before he knew it she was playfully pushing his shoulders down to the bed, now completely on top of him. The golden curtain of hair fell over her shoulders, brushing lightly against his chest. 

She hummed a little noise of triumph, planting another tacky kiss on his lips and sitting up to her full height. She stared down at him with heavy lidded eyes, biting her lip. He rested his hands on her hips, bracing himself and trying to recall the feeling of holding Potter in the alley. It wasn’t the same.

“I think I know what you’ll like,” she said with a smirk, as she trailed her hands down his chest where she unbuttoned the last few buttons of his shirt. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining that the hands belonged to someone else. Green eyes flashed in his memory. 

She started undoing his belt. He scrambled to think of something to turn him on before she got much farther, but the floral smell and the tacky feeling on his lips was distracting. 

Then, without warning, she lept off of him. His eyes snapped open and he quickly propped himself up on his elbows to see what had happened. She stood by the foot of the bed, laughing as she pulled the robe back around her small frame.

“Were you seriously going to let me go much farther?” she asked incredulously. 

“What?” was all Draco could muster, dumbfounded. 

“Oh my goodness, you are hilarious,” she said, grabbing a hair tie off her wrist and gathering her hair into a ponytail. “I mean, talk about dedication.” 

She turned towards the desk in the room and grabbed the back of the desk chair, dragging it towards the bed. Draco sat up, suddenly feeling exposed. She caught his eye and burst into laughter again, flopping down into the chair once she was close, and crossing her legs daintily at the knee. 

“Is something the matter?” he asked, holding the facade together as best he could.

“Oh you can drop the act, babe,” said Angelica with an eye roll. “We’ve been dancing around this thing long enough, I’m ready to come clean.”

“I can’t imagine —“

“Though it’s been plenty of fun,” she continued, folding her hands in her lap. “And you’re so beautiful, and such a good kisser. But I know you’re interested in men.” 

What in Godrick’s name was going on? Draco immediately went into emergency mitigation mode, starting to mumble out some excuse or other but his brain was shutting down on him. He stood, refastening his belt and sorting through which cover story would have the most lasting power in this situation. Perhaps it was the whiskey, or the lateness of the hour, or the insane series of events he’d lived through in the last day, but he was not ready to be found out by Angelica of all things. 

But Angelica just seemed more amused by his stammering and let out a snort of laughter. “Draco, it’s fine,” she was saying, waving it away. “It’s fine, please sit. I’ve known all along. In fact it’s one of the reasons I chose you.” 

“Chose me?” he said, still standing. “What do you mean?” 

“Just sit,” she said, patting the edge of the bed gingerly. “I’ll tell you.”

Draco hesitated momentarily but something about the calm way she sat there, the knowing glint in her eye, told him the jig was up. In fact, some part of him had known she always knew more than she was letting on. Maybe it was that day on the golf course or the damned cards. 

He was partly relieved to have one less set of lies to maintain, but he knew it would come at a cost. She would only be showing her hand now as a bargaining measure. 

He took a deep breath, sat on the edge of the bed facing her, and said, “Alright. What do you want?”

“Jeez Louise, you cut right to the chase don’t you,” she said with a smile, the girlish timbre leaving her voice suddenly. She ran a hand slowly through her ponytail and regarded him with an intrigued expression. “That’s what father said about you too.”

Had this whole thing been a ploy from the very start? And here he’d been thinking he was in control of the situation. It had only been a few weeks ago that he’d been sitting in the manor gardens with Pansy, planning his return to power, never questioning that someone else might be pulling the string of his fate. 

He smiled to himself. If there was anything his years of betting had taught him it was when to hold and when to fold. There was only one thing to do now. When your opponent has guessed your cards, it’s time to show your hand.

“I only mean to say that I can see I’m at a disadvantageous negotiating position. You clearly know more than I do in this situation, but you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t still something I could provide that would make it worth your while. Tell me what it is, and I’ll see if we can come to an agreement.”

“Very astute,” she said pleasantly. “But I don't want there to be any animosity between us on this. I want us to be friends. I know I can be just as much value to you as you are to me.” 

“You think you already know what I want?” 

“It’s obvious,” said Angelia, flicking her long ponytail off her shoulder and then lacing her fingers together on her knee. “You are on the precipice of wizarding society. One wrong move and you will be living out your life on significantly different terms than you started it. And if I’m not very much mistaken, I don’t think your finances are faring too well either, judging by the state of the manor. Moreover, you are the last of your bloodline. Quite an inconvenient position to be in for someone with no interest in women. What you need is a partner, a lineage, and a financial backer to lift you into your proper place in the world. How am I doing so far?”

Draco felt a lump in his throat. “Have you seen all this in my cards?” he asked, in an attempt at levity.

Angelica smiled broadly, but did not laugh in her usual way. “No my dear, it’s written all over your face,” she said, then cocked her head to the side, “And in the findings of the detailed investigation I commissioned on you.”

“Maybe we’re more alike than I thought,” said Draco, and he meant it. The pieces were starting to fall together now. If Angelica already knew this much about him, then what Potter had shared earlier in the evening should fill in the rest of the gaps. “Alright, Let me see if I can guess what it is that you want.” 

“I like this game,” said Angelica with a devilish grin. 

“Your father wants to expand DuPont Industries into Europe, but there’s more to the company than meets the eye. He needs someone who’s in good standing in society to be the public face of the pharmaceutical and alchemical branches, but also connected to the right underground network for the weapons trade. And someone who's willing to either buy in or turn a blind eye to the whole thing wouldn’t hurt. He knows he can restore my position in society with our match and the placement at the company, and he knows he can apply pressure to me through the broken deal with my father. Together, you and I take the company into the next generation. Does that about cover it?”

“Close!” said Angelica, lighting up and pulling her feet up onto the edge of her chair. “Much closer than I’d thought you’d get. Ugh. In another world we really would be perfect for each other, wouldn’t we?” 

“Alright, tell me what I’ve missed.”

“What you’ve missed is me,” said Angelica frankly. “Did you think daddy just tells me when to jump and I jump? My father had no idea you existed until a few weeks ago.” 

Draco scoffed. Just when he thought there was nothing else that could surprise him. 

“My father is a smart man. He inherited the company from his father, and he did exceptionally well with it. He placed bets in the right places, he took calculated risks, and they've paid off. But he lacks vision.” Angelica’s expression sobered. “And like you, and so many men, he was quick to doubt me. He doubted that I could lead DuPont Industries. Despite my education and my inclination to take over the family business, he was reluctant to put me in a position of power. So I had to find other ways to influence him.”

She reached into the drawer of the night stand and pulled out a now all too familiar hinged box. She lifted out the deck of tarot cards and began to shuffle.

“It was much easier than I thought, actually. My father is an incredibly superstitious man, and people are quick to believe. Once I got a footing in divination, my advice suddenly became worthwhile. Launch in these markets, these sectors will be profitable, blah blah blah. All it took was some research and a little informed guessing. But at the end of the day, people will pay anything for a bit of insight.”

“Are you saying that you’re running the business behind the scenes?”

“I leave the running of the business to my father, but I have a say in all the important decisions. In fact, he was extremely reluctant to expand overseas until the cards told him otherwise.” She shuffled the cards with a loud riffling, her small hands moving expertly over the deck. Then, seemingly at random, she pulled a card off the top of the deck to reveal an image of a man holding a globe, looking out to sea. The two of wands. 

“I see,” said Draco, nodding. “What better position of influence than one where you don’t have to fight to keep your seat at the table. But why not just have the cards say that you’re destined to take over the business?”

“Please, that’s about as subtle as a punch in the face,” said Angelica with an eye roll, collecting the card and resuming her shuffling. “He wanted to see me married, settled. I wanted control. So I started looking for eligible partners in the states. There are a lot of degenerates with great family names out there, let me tell you. But my criteria were simple. I wanted someone who had their own interests, so I could keep to mine.”

She turned over another card, which showed a man and a woman walking towards each other; the Lovers. 

“That’s when we received your letter. It couldn’t have been more perfectly timed really, I’m surprised I didn’t see it in the cards myself. A cursory search revealed that you were in quite a bind of your own, but by all accounts intelligent and quite gentle. Then—even better—the history with Lucius gave us access to the exact target market my father doubted.”

Angelica’s hands skated over the cards as she spoke, drawing out yet another card. This one depicted a man seated under a tree with three cups at his feet. A hand reached out of a cloud hanging in thin air, offering a cup; a gift out of the blue. The four of cups. Draco was starting to follow. Each card held an implicit meaning, one that didn’t need defining if the viewer was left to interpret it from their own perspective.

“So I got to thinking,” Angelica continued, having such a spark of brilliance in her eyes that Draco wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. “What if I could use you to carry out our expansion? You were certainly the best option I had for a match, and you wouldn’t be pressuring me for children any time soon. I could leave my father’s shadow while maintaining control over the business from afar, live in England with a beautiful husband, and by all accounts become a member of the nobility in one move.” 

She stopped shuffling and held his gaze, with a look of complete composure. Something few people were able to do effectively, let alone in a fluffy bathrobe. She flipped over a card to show a delicate featured man seated on a throne adorned in grapevines, holding a sceptre of gold. The king of pentacles. 

“So that’s it. You use me, I use you, and we both get what we want?” said Draco, all pretense finally dropped.

“Well that’s what I thought at first, but once I met you I knew there was so much more potential,” she said, collecting the turned over cards to the deck and resting them on her crossed knees. “You’re brilliant, deviant, and above all, you have vision. You’re the perfect person to represent our interests to the Collective, as long as I can make sure our interests are the same. Plus I know you know a good bet when you see one, so I figured I’d lay it all out for you.” 

“So all this clairvoyancy, it’s just a front.”

“It depends. You can only see so much of the future. Sometimes you have to set your own path.” 

Without shuffling, she flipped over the top three cards onto the bed; the Hierophant, the five of swords reversed, and the knight of wands. 

“You control them,” said Draco, with a huff of astonished laughter. 

“Not always,” said Angelica, her expression softening. “Only when I have a message I need to deliver.”

“So you took a bet that I’d believe what you’d lay out for me: Remind me about my structured past, make sure I bring up the old deal with your father, and accept the job when the time came.”

“You got it,” said Angelica, scooping up the three cards off the bed and shuffling the deck again. The cards flew between her hands with a satisfying flutter.

“What about Harry’s reading?”

“That was just a bit of fun” said Angelica with a shrug. “You guys were making such a big deal out of him I thought it’d be fun to see what he was like. He’s darling by the way.”

“And the betrayal - was that real?”

“It was a guess. I mean, you don’t get where Harry is in life without a few people betraying you along the way.” 

Of all the things Angelica knew, it seemed that was one area she was still in the dark. All for the better. If he was going to follow through with the promise that he made to Potter earlier in the night, he’d have to keep Angelica out of the details. 

But she was certainly a hell of a lot sharper than he’d given her credit for. He’d have to watch his back for sure, but the news she’d revealed didn’t deter him. If anything, he’d be glad to have a partner who was in the know and could back him on the dealings with the Collective. 

He looked up to see her smiling as she shuffled. “So are you two together?” she asked 

“What? No,” said Draco, thrown slightly off kilter by her brazenness. 

“Why not?” She giggled. “He’s adorable. It’s fine by me, really. Whatever keeps you happy, will keep me happy. As long as you keep it well under wraps. But I’m sure that was the plan anyway.” 

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you,” said Draco, running a hand through his hair and blinking back the encroaching exhaustion. 

“I do! And I’m so glad you’ve finally noticed,” she said, pausing in her shuffling to extend her hand. “So have we got a deal?” 

Draco sifted through his position; his original motivations for the match, as foolish as they felt now, were met unequivocally. He would be coming into a position of power with a strong ally, and he had a reason to maintain his connection with Potter. What did he have to lose? 

“I couldn’t imagine a better match,” he said, accepting her hand. 

She squealed with glee, her girlish demeanour returning. “Yay! I’m so excited. I love getting what I want.” she held the deck out to him again. “Shall I give you another reading? A real one this time — I won’t interfere with the cards, I promise.”

Draco sighed and rubbed a sleepy hand over his face. But like it or not, he was interested in what the cards had to say. Angelica raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Go on then,” he said, cutting the deck and returning it to her.

“Alright we’ll do the same three card spread as before; past, present, and future,” she said, flipping over the first card onto the bed. “Your past first. This one will tell us about the events that shaped you.”

The card was inverted, depicting an old man seated in a stone archway, looking out onto the green lands of an estate. A young couple embraced in the distance, with a child and a dog playing at their feet.

“Ten of pentacles,” began Angelica, bemused. “This one is normally about family life, inheritance, legacy, but--”

“But it’s reversed, so I’m guessing this means the opposite of that. Strained family relationships, bad investments, that sort of thing.”

“You pick things up fast,” said Angelica with a coy smile. “Does that hold with your past?”

“To an extent,” said Draco, lying down on the bed and propping his head up on his hand. This was starting to feel less like his first night together with his fiancée and more like those games of exploding snap with Pansy back in the Slytherin dorms. What was the harm in sharing a little bit about himself at this point. 

“I remember a happy childhood. One with doting parents who would do anything for me and for each other. It got harder once I was old enough to realise everything we stood to lose. There were certainly a few mistakes made, but nothing done without the interest of our family first,” he said, truthfully. 

She hummed in acknowledgement and flipped over the second card. “Your present. What is influencing you today.” 

A wheel with strange symbols hung in the clouds, surrounded on all sides by strange creatures including a snake, a sphynx, and a giant bird. 

“The Wheel of Fortune?” Draco read from the card. This was one he had not seen before. 

“A very symbolic card, it represents changing fates,” Angelica explained. “The wheel is always turning, so our life is always full of good and bad. It’s a cycle that we can’t control.”

“What goes up must come down. How trite,” drawled Draco.

“And what’s down must come up, like the rising of the sun,” said Angelica, with a hint of chastisement. “Where we fall on the wheel isn’t up to us. Maybe it’s luck, or maybe it’s fate, but we know we’ll always come round again. Where are you falling presently?”

“On the up I’d wager,” said Darco with a smirk that Angelica returned. 

“I’ll say. Shall we see what the future holds?”

“How do I know you won’t just pick my future for me?” Draco asked, keeping his voice level but secretly quite keen to see what was revealed. 

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” she said with a wink. 

She extended the deck in his direction, allowing him to turn over the final card. He laid the third card down next to the others to reveal an image of two figures facing each other holding chalices. The symbol of the caduceus, a snake wrapped around a staff, twined between them. 

“Excellent, the two of cups,” said Angelica brightly. “A strong partnership, based on balance and respect. Two opposing forces coming together. Between them is the staff of Hermes, a symbol of commerce and negotiation— the balancing of ideals.”

“I take it this is a good sign,” said Draco. Picturing an altogether different partnership of opposing forces. 

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” said Angelica with a smile. 

***

“So let me get this straight,” said Pansy, placing her teacup back on its saucer and turning to face Draco. “You had a chance to hook up with each of them, and you didn’t follow through on either?” 

“Keep your voice down, you horrid woman,” drawled Draco, lazily. “You know my mother has the ears of a hawk.”

Darco could not remember being so relaxed as he was now. The sun was shining on the emerald lawns of the manor, dappled patches of light shone through the vines of wisteria on the gazebo overhead, and Angelica had been back in the US for about a week. He’d finally managed to catch Pansy up on the events of the Aparecium night -- as much as he was able to share at any rate.

“I’m just saying... I’m happy it worked out for you and all. I just can’t help but think that getting laid once in a while would do you a world of good,” said Pansy, tucking her dark bob neatly behind her ears. “All this secrecy, it can’t be good for a person.” 

“Are you speaking from experience, Pansy? Only Angelica told me you and Blaise were looking particularly cosy after I left that night.” Draco shifted his head slightly to look at his friend while remaining in a reclined position.

“Don’t change the subject, you git!” said Pansy stifling a laugh. She always got uncharacteristically giggly when an object of affection was brought up in conversation. “I just mean, what if you never get another chance like that with Harry again?”

Draco frowned to himself. That was the one piece he wished more than anything he could confide in Pansy -- that he was sure he’d be seeing Harry again. But as he played the conversation over in his head in the days that followed that fateful night, he became more steadfast in his commitment to keep Potter’s position a secret. After all, it wasn’t just Potter that would be hurt if he was found out.

“I couldn’t care less,” Draco lied convincingly. “Three face to face interactions in as many weeks was more than enough to cure me of any lingering questions I had about old scarhead.” 

“Hm,” Pansy mused, sounding unconvinced. She had a sixth sense for his lies, he’d have to tread extremely carefully around her. “Then I guess it won’t bother you to see this.”

She rifled in her bag, pulling out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet and handing it to him. He sat up in his chair, unfolding the paper to a garishly large headline reading _From Auror to Horror: The Rise and Fall of the Ministry’s Golden Boy_ next to a photo of a particularly bedraggled looking Potter stumbling down a London street with a familiar looking party crowd. 

Draco immediately felt a pang of concern at the image, but he could feel Pansy’s eyes on him so he fixed his features into an expression of reticence. 

“Looks like that sort of crowd caught up to him,” said Draco drily. His eyes traced over the face of the wizard, who had flushed cheeks and was walking with his arms around two Libby-esque women in nightclub attire. He was smiling and shouting something to the entourage that surrounded him, but Draco could detect a certain hollowness in his eyes. 

“That’s a bit heartless even from you,” said Pansy, pointedly picking up her tea and turning her face from him to look out over the lawn. 

“Since when do you care? He wasn’t even a part of our lives until you dragged us to that bloody Ministry gala.” Draco snapped, unsure why he was picking a fight.

“Yes of course, it’s all my fault as usual.” Pansy took a brusque sip from her cup and then placed it down again with a clatter. “I mean, call me crazy but I thought we were enjoying ourselves. Far be it for me to feel concern over someone who showed the faintest desire to be our friend. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you it doesn’t always come easy for us. Harry wouldn’t be the first to forget everything our families have done.”

“No, you’re right,” said Draco with an agitated sigh. He didn’t want to lash out at Pansy with his own issues. “I just don’t think we ever would have seen eye to eye, you know? And I do feel for him. The Prophet can kill a star as quickly as they can make one. But we’ve got to look out for our own and we’ve done that.” 

Pansy turned back to him, her eyebrows knitted together. 

“Stop that at once,” said Draco. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

She cracked a reluctant smile. “Let’s not count him out completely,” she said, putting a hand on Draco’s arm. “I’m so glad it’s all worked out with Angelica, and I’m sure everything is about to change for the better. But let’s just keep an eye out for him, alright? Merlin knows he’d do the same for you.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” said Draco, giving her hand a pat. “I’m sure you’ll forget about this before too long. You know Angelica wants to have the most extravagant wedding imaginable and I’ll definitely need your help to plan the thing. I can’t imagine you’ll be sparing a thought for Potter when you’re decked out in the finest robes money can buy.” 

Pansy laughed and sat back in her chair. “Well it’s good to see you back to your old ways at any rate. What goes down must come up!”

“What did you say?” asked Draco. 

But Pansy had already turned back towards the house and was beckoning a house elf to come refill the teapot. He must have imagined it. 

Draco turned back to the newspaper in his hand, watching the charming way the glasses slid down Harry’s nose when he laughed. He looked up at the sound of fluttering wings to behold an incredibly ordinary looking owl descending into a perch on the chair opposite him. The owl regarded him quietly, tilting its head first one way, then another, and held out it’s leg to which was attached a small piece of parchment with his name in a familiar, slanted writing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, folks! Turns out everyone's favourite clairvoyant knew more than she was letting on all along. I had a lot of fun creating the character of Angelica as someone who could hold her own against a strong personality like Draco. Although as we all know, she's not destined to be his match forever. 
> 
> Apologies for leaving you on a bit of a cliffhanger here. From the beginning, I've had a clear arc for this story in mind to explore the start of Harry & Draco's relationship through Draco's eyes and set us up for the two of them to embark on an adventure to save the world together. I have loads more ideas planned for these two in stories to follow, and would love if you guys came along for the ride with me. Let me know your thoughts & feedback so far! 
> 
> I should also note that I backed up the spread interpretations with the Labyrinthos online tarot library, which is a great resource. If you're keen to see what the characters are seeing, I've posted pictures of both of Draco's spreads from the story on my Tumblr, the-fools-errand.
> 
> Overall, I'm really excited to be completing my first fan fiction with this chapter. Massive thanks again to my beta, Honeybeet, who asks all the right questions and gives me the encouragement I need to keep at it. Thanks as well to my friends M & E, who do not even ship this, but read each chapter diligently and lovingly. And to my roomie, Z, who provided all the good golf and tarot knowledge. You guys are the best! 
> 
> See you on the next one.


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